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[See page 226 

A CLOUD OF YELLOWISH FLAME THAT EXTINGUISHED ITSELF WITH A 

DETONATING “BOOM!” 


.N • • 




5 






THE GREEN 

C • 


A HIGH SCHOOL STORY 


BY 

J. A. MEYER 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY THE AUTHOR 



HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 
MCMXII 





COPYRIGHT. 1912. BY HARPER A BROTHERS 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
PUBLISHED OCTOBER. 1912 


K-M 


ffl /. > 'T“ 

©CI.A327685 


TO 




THE AUTHORS 

OF 

THE AUTHOR 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

I. The Green C i 

II. What it Meant 17 

III. On Being a Good Sport 33 

IV. The Pride that Goeth After a Fall ... 50 

V. The Hero 64 

VI. The Hedgeley Game 79 

VII. The Yellow Streak 95 

VIII. The Twilight of the God 113 

IX. A Question of Actors 128 

X. The Holiday 145 

XI. The Mark of a Scholar 162 

XII. The New Game 182 

XIII. Graham Takes His Chance 198 

XIV. Experiments 215 

XV. The Way to the C 232 

XVI. Jack’s Luck 245 

XVII. The Width of the Creek 263 

XVIII. The Forgotten Note 278 

XIX. The Laurel 293 

XX. The Race 308 



















/ 





















* 

























ILLUSTRATIONS 


A CLOUD OF YELLOWISH FLAME THAT EXTINGUISHED 
ITSELF WITH A DETONATING “BOOM!” . . . . 

HE SCRAMBLED UP ON THE SILL 

“gee!” exclaimed jack, admiringly, “you’re 
bleeding!” 


Frontispiece V 
Facing p. 40 


11 


102 




274 V 


HE SEEMED TO APPROACH THE SHORE BY INCHES 


n 












♦ 


I 











THE GREEN C 



THE GREEN C 


i 

THE GREEN C 

TOHN HATHAWAY DOWNING, more 
conveniently known to his friends as just 
Jack, was engaged in plastering down his 
curly hair straighter than any law of nature 
intended it to go. He was conscious of his 
best suit, new boots, and his oldest tie. The 
best suit was his mother's decree, since that 
used on ordinary occasions was no longer 
ordinary. His new shoes were an unfortu- 
nate accident, but the old tie was masterly 
diplomacy on the part of Jack himself; and 
the torturing of his yellow curls partook of 
this design, for Jack was bent on making 
himself look natural and every-day, with the 
overwhelming odds of new boots and Sunday 
suit against him. 

To-day was the day of Jack's matriculation 
into Cleveland High School, and together with 


THE GREEN C 


a hundred and thirty-two other new boys he 
was trying to get through this important 
event with as little notice as possible. One 
may graduate with wreaths and the presiden- 
tial salute; but one enters school, high school, 
or college humbly, like a thief in the night. So 
Jack and the rest of the hundred and thirty- 
three were donning ragged neckties with their 
best suits, and bestowing more attention on 
their hair than ever in their lives before, 
endeavoring to acquire the carelessly dressed 
appearance of a third-term student worrying 
about exams. 

From down-stairs came the voice of Edith, 
Jack’s junior by a year, a happy child still in 
the sheltering arms of the old red grammar- 
school which had cast him forth last June. 

“Jack-ee! Aren’t you coming? You’ll be 
late for school!” 

'‘High school,” corrected Jack, with some 
heat, then swallowed hard. He wasn’t proud, 
only, if one suffers for a name, at least let 
him be permitted to bear it. 

“Jackie,” called Jack’s mother, “do you 
want any help?” 

“No, ma’am.” Jack’s indignation rose. 
To be dressed by one’s mother to go to high 
school! It had the effect of putting an end 
to his attack on his hair, so he went down 
2 


THE GREEN C 


to the dining-room with the front of his head 
smooth and several shades darker than the 
back, which, in contrast, seemed puffed up 
like the down on a very young chicken. 

Mrs. Downing scarcely looked higher than 
his neck. 

What kind of a tie have you got on? And 
your collar! Didn’t you put on a clean one?” 

Obviously he had not. 

“ Hadn’t time — first I could get hold of,” 
mumbled Jack. “ Oatmeal? Where’s the 
sugar?” 

“You’re not going out in that dirty collar!” 
exclaimed Emily, the oldest of the Downing 
family, very wise at nineteen. 

“Yes, I am. I haven’t time — ” 

“Then you should have got up in time. 
You deserve to be late. Mother, aren’t you 
going to make him change that tie?” 

But Jack had gulped down all the necessary 
food, and was commencing to search wildly 
for his cap. Edith was creating a draught 
by swinging the front door, and added her 
pressing inquiries to the confusion: 

“Jack-ee! Are you coming?” 

“Really, Jackie, that collar — ” protested 
Mrs. Downing, trying not to laugh; but Jack, 
having found his cap, cut short her objec- 
tions with his rough, boyish good-by kiss, 

3 


THE GREEN C 


41 It's all right, Mom; I don’t want to be 
late. First day, you know! Pop gone?” 

“Yes; good-by. Be good.” 

The door slammed, and Emily was staring 
at the smile on her mother’s face. 

“He’s messed your hair,’’ she announced, 
severely. “I think you should have insisted 
about his collar and tie. What will the boys 
think of him, or the teachers?” 

Mrs. Downing shook her head and smiled 
even more. 

“They would be more likely to notice 
them if they had been clean and new,” she 
said. 

Jack, meantime, left Edie at the comer, a 
very short walk. Edie, who was not occu- 
pied with the emotions that made Jack’s 
progress a march to the battle-field, noticed 
how particularly short that walk was, and how 
proportionately far away from the comer 
where she left her old comrade the Grammar 
School seemed to have grown. She felt home- 
sick and prone to tears. Jack seemed a differ- 
ent Jack who would not need her any more 
in that strange new world of his. 

Among all those that sauntered up the 
hill to the great yellow-brick high-school 
building Jack beheld no familiar face. The 
town was a large one, supplying about twenty 
4 


THE GREEN C 

public schools, and from Jack's only eight 
boys out of those who graduated intended to 
follow up their education at Cleveland. These 
eight were easily missed in the crowds. In 
fact, Jack beheld none but the happy students 
of upper classes greeting each other with 
cheers and calls, chaffing questions and per- 
sonalities. 

Then panic descended upon Jack as to 
which door he was to use. Plainly he was 
with the wrong group. Perhaps there was 
some strict etiquette concerning entrances. 

“Say,” he spoke, in a quaking treble, with 
a swagger of assurance that he hoped might 
stamp him as a junior at the least, “which 
door do the freshmen use?” 

The boy addressed, a tall, stoutish lad who 
had been lounging against the brick wall, 
gazed for some seconds at Jack, then pointed 
down the street. 

“Down there. Turn the comer and you’ll 
find a little path leading to a door. It may 
be locked — all the freshies are in — but keep on 
hammering till they open.” 

“Thanks.” Jack liked his serious manner, 
and when the other raised his cap with a 
flourish, saying, “Oh, don’t mention it at 
all,” he flushed scarlet and clumsily raised 
his own cap and wondered if his abrupt mode 
5 


THE GREEN C 


of address had not seemed boorish. Here, 
indeed, were different customs from the free 
and easy life of grammar-school. 

Cleveland High School and its grounds cov- 
ered a large square, and with the warning 
that the freshman door might be locked 
uppermost in his mind Jack broke into a 
trot. On the other side of the building he 
found an iron gate leading to the little path, 
and the door beyond it was closed. Farther 
down was another entrance, with boys crush- 
ing in, and for one reckless moment Jack de- 
cided to follow them, pretending he was an 
upper classman. He was deterred, however, 
by the thought of where this fraud might land 
him — visions of class-rooms filled with in- 
dignant hosts bent on punishing him for his 
liberty. He knocked politely at the door 
before him. 

The crowds surging into the entrance be- 
yond thinned as he waited. He realized that 
it was growing later and later. He knocked 
again without gentleness and, after a slight 
pause, once more with growing force. The 
door was jerked away from under his up- 
raised fist, while a red-faced woman stood 
in the opening glaring at him furiously. 

“What in the name of Hivin is this, now?” 
she cried, wrathfully. “Is it thricks ye’re at 
6 


THE GREEN C 


already, an’ the school not yet more than 
claned an’ opened its dures. Go lang out 
of this before I get Dr. Hall after ye, ye brazen 
little imp, ye. Don’t ye hear me at all?” 

'‘I thought — ” Jack stood frozen with 
horror. The door banged in his face, and the 
noise woke him to action. He fled across the 
green September lawn to the other entrance, 
and was the last of three to scuttle through 
as the bell sounded somewhere, shaking the 
soul of him with fear. 

Moreover, some one had him by the arm. 

“If I catch you runnin’ across my lawn 
again, young feller, Dr. Hall will hear of it. 
What’s your name?” 

* ‘ Downing — J ack Downing , ’ ’ stammered 
Jack. The grip loosened. 

“You’re new, so I’ll let you go this time; 
but don’t try it again, because next time I 
won’t be so kind.” 

His captor, a man in a grimy black cap and 
stained overalls, went out again into the 
bright sun. Jack ached to follow and escape 
from that long, vacant, cement-floored corri- 
dor, with its ghostly sound of hidden voices 
and invisible footsteps, its complicated iron 
stairways, and the mysterious closed doors 
that lined the walls. 

In his worst dreams nothing like this ever 
7 


THE GREEN C 


had happened to Jack. He could not have 
been lost more completely in the Desert of 
Sahara, and certainly nowhere could he have 
been so lonesome as he felt there in the empty 
hall of that great building filled with audible 
but unseen beings. 

Into the depths of his misery, while he 
stood wondering which way to turn, and 
whether he dared turn at all, there descended 
an angel in a once-white sweater with a large 
green C on the chest. It is doubtful whether 
Jack would have had the courage to accost this 
individual had not his deliverer spoken first. 

“Freshman?” 

“Yes.” 

“You belong in Crandall's room. Two 
flights up, room thirty-five. You’d better 
beat it before the second bell rings.” 

“Thanks.” Jack said it from his heart, 
and made for the nearest stairs without de- 
lay. From the iron framework of the stair- 
way he saw the white sweater making its 
blissful way down the halls. Afterward, when 
the big school became his home as much as 
the little room under his father’s roof, Jack 
often gazed through that very grille down the 
familiar hall and recalled with wonder the 
bitter homesickness and envy that had filled 
him this first time. 


8 


THE GREEN C 


He found Room No. 35 one of a number 
of doors in a hall such as he had left, only 
that it was lighter. He knocked and en- 
tered, and the sight of the Irish face of one 
James Miskell sent tremors of delight all 
through him. In school he had seen very 
little of Miskell, and had never bothered to 
see more, yet here that pleasant, homely face 
seemed beautiful as a haven after a stormy 
passage. He did not look for the other 
seven boys from his school; Miskell sufficed. 

“Well?” said Crandall, from the desk in 
the front of the room. He was a young man 
with thick glasses, and a habit of expecting 
order so convincingly that he generally got 
it — especially from freshmen. 

“I was told to come here, sir. I’m a fresh- 
man, sir.” 

“So I see. Do you intend taking French 
or German?” 

Immediately Jack beheld Miskell undergo 
what looked like an attack of epilepsy, but 
which really was an effort to signal to him 
matters of great importance. It reminded 
Jack of a game of “London Bridge is Falling 
Down.” 

“That boy.” Crandall rose majestically. 
“What is the matter with you?” 

“Nothing, sir. I just wanted to let Down- 
9 


THE GREEN C 


in g know he wants to take French/ ’ answered 
the resourceful Miskell. 

A giggle broke over the class. Crandall 
smiled, and the giggle grew to a laugh. Cran- 
dall frowned, and the laugh died away. 

“You should have arranged your pro- 
gramme in private,” declared Crandall. 
“And now,” he turned to Jack, “having 
received this gentleman’s interesting com- 
munication, do you feel more competent 
to decide?” 

Had Jack had Teutonic aspirations of the 
keenest, he would have cast them all aside 
for that coveted seat beside the hitherto un- 
appreciated form of Miskell. 

“French, sir,” he said, as the second bell 
rang. 

“Put your name, school, parent’s name, 
and address on there, and then take your 
place on the line. Class stand!” 

A few seconds later Jack and Miskell were 
crushing each other’s fingers as they stood 
together on the line; then Miskell directed 
Jack’s attention to two other graduates from 
their school who were surreptitiously welcom- 
ing him to their midst. 

“The rest,” whispered Miskell, “took 
Dutch.” 

They marched into “chapel,” a secular room 

IO 


THE GREEN C 


so large that the freshmen on the rear seats 
could scarcely hear the voice of Dr. Hall. 
When they returned to the class-room a new 
instructor took charge of them, an angular 
person named Stockton, a man who had a 
damning reputation for sarcasm, yet was well 
liked, especially by the classes that had 
passed through his fire and gone on. 

At last came a moment of liberty, when 
tongues were freed, and Jack told all his 
adventures to Miskell. 

“And, say,” concluded Jack, “there was 
one thing about that chap — the one that sent 
me here, that I did like awfully. He had a 
big green C on his sweater.” 

“'Did he?” asked Miskell. “What was 
that for?” 

“Don’t you know the name of your high 
school yet?” asked Jack, scathingly. 

“Oh, for Cleveland.” 

“No, for a Clever Boy. That’s the way 
they rate ’em here. You’ll have a D on 
yours for dumb,” retorted Jack, sarcastically. 

“That’s a swell stunt,” nodded Miskell, 
flushing. “Only don’t you think it’s kind 
of showy? After all, we aren’t Harvard or 
Yale.” 

“Well, I like being patriotic anyway. 
We’re important here, just as much as the 

ii 


THE GREEN C 

big colleges are important to the country. 
And Tm going to buy one,” announced Jack, 
decisively. 

“I don’t know, it’s sort of sissy, isn’t it, 
marking up your clothes like that?” ventured 
Miskell, conservatively. 

“Huh, wait till you see the feller you’ve 
been calling sissy,” grinned Jack. “I’d love 
to see you do it to his face.” 

The relentless bell cut off all further argu- 
ment. 

At lunch- time Jack and Miskell kept to- 
gether like two aliens in a foreign land. In 
that one hour they learned more of each 
other’s character and habits than they had 
found out in the six years of daily association 
in the grammar-school, where half the class- 
room, and the fact that they belonged to 
different “gangs, ” interposed to block their 
friendship. 

“I thought you were a kind of a snob,” 
confessed Miskell, at the crest of confidence. 

“I imagined you were sort of tough,” re- 
sponded Jack, with equal frankness. And in 
the comradeship which began thus it is doubt- 
ful whether they ever reclimbed those heights 
of intimacy reached during the surge of that 
first hour’s loneliness and mutual dependence. 

Toward the end of the lunch period they 
12 


THE GREEN C 


ascended the iron stairs in a leisurely fashion 
and regained their room, where they found 
books being distributed. A boy named Cart- 
wright, in the seat in front of them, went 
through his books systematically, while they 
opened theirs at random, exclaiming in awe 
at the intelligence they were expected to ac- 
quire to master the mysteries they found. 

“ Better see there are no pages missing in 
your books/ ’ advised Cartwright, turning 
around. “A feller that went to school with 
my brother flunked because he never found 
out that six propositions were missing from 
his Euclid till he got them on an exam, and 
couldn’t recognize one of them.” 

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” exclaimed Jack. 

“What’s Euclid?” asked Miskell, who had 
no scholastic pride. 

“Geometry.” The patronage in Cart- 
wright’s tone was so subtle that it was al- 
most imperceptible. 

“How’d he miss all that in class?” asked 
the practical Jack. 

“He used to cut a lot.” Cartwright smiled 
in a knowing manner. “Do you get every- 
thing that goes on in class?” 

Jack wondered whether this was a reflec- 
tion on his ability to apprehend or a veiled 
compliment admitting him to the genial 
2 13 


THE GREEN C 


brotherhood of anti-grinds. While he was 
figuring it out the very boy who had rescued 
him in the hall entered the room in all the 
glory of his patriotic sweater, carrying a heavy 
load of books. 

“Look,” he nudged Miskell; “there he is.” 

“That’s Graham,” volunteered Cart- 
wright. “On the football team. He was a 
freshman when my brother graduated, but 
my brother predicted he’d make the team 
even then. Look at the size of him!” 

“I like his sweater,” said Jack. “That’s 
a slick idea, that C on it.” 

“A slick idea?” Cartwright caught him 
up, quickly. “Don’t you know what that 
means?” 

“No,” grinned Jack. “I think it stands 
for Cauliflower.” 

“No, really,” repeated Cartwright, 11 don't 
you?” 

“What I know about it” — Jack assumed 
his best oratorical manner — “is that it’s a 
shame every boy in this place isn’t wearing 
one. 

Cartwright stared at him, then flopped 
back in his seat in a most exasperating 
way. 

“Oh, you poor nuts,” he murmured, sym- 
pathetically. “You don't know. Is it your 
14 


THE GREEN C 


intention to blossom out with one?” he in- 
quired of Jack, who need not have been very 
bright to perceive the poison under the 
honey in his voice. 

”1 guess you know what I intend to do,” 
returned Jack, wishing he had an equal con- 
fidence in himself. 

“Do you know what would happen to you 
if you did wear one?” demanded Cartwright, 
fiendishly. Jack had to proceed cautiously. 
There was no telling when Cartwright might 
begin to “string” him. He decided on an 
assumption of burlesque as his safest course. 

“Sure, you'd be expelled,” said he. 

“No, but you’d wish you had been.” Cart- 
wright had to concede a hint in his pride of 
his own wit. 

“You bet you would,” nodded Jack, em- 
phatically. 

“Do you know why Graham wears one?” 

Miskell felt it was time to interfere. 

“Maybe he got a hundred per cent, in 
something,” he suggested. 

The bell for the commencement of the 
afternoon sessions and the advent of the 
instructor cut off Cartwright’s uproarious 
laughter, and gave Jack a much-needed 
breathing-space. But a note was slipped 
onto his desk that puzzled him exceedingly, 
15 


THE GREEN C 


and set his uneasiness to work anew, for there 
is no game so nerve-racking as riding igno- 
rance with the bridle of pretense. 

“My brother had a C when he graduated. 
I’m going to get one, too.” 

For an instant Jack hesitated over the 
thought that the letter might be a hereditary 
institution to which he had no claim, being 
the first of his line at Cleveland. Then he 
decided to take a long chance. Turning the 
paper over, he scribbled his reply on the back 
of it, unconsciously and in ignorance register- 
ing his first collegiate vow, that was to make 
this" year for him something more than the 
first year of high school, that was to make his 
career at Cleveland something more, too, 
than an aimless shuffling through a maze of 
marks. 

Cartwright, unfolding the note that Jack 
passed him, read with the little superior smile 
that Jack hated: 

“So am I.” 

Then he crushed the paper and thrust it 
out of sight in his desk, as the class was 
called upon to form a line to march to the 
next study in another room. 


II 


WHAT IT MEANT 

O N his way home Jack spied Edie waiting 
for him at the gate, and he experienced 
a thrill of pride in his own growth since he 
had left her that morning. Doubtless she 
was there to learn of his first day's adventures 
and to see how he had fared. He wondered 
if he showed for the broadening of his mind. 
He felt, as never before, the difference in 
their ages — indeed, she seemed more than a 
year younger. The fact that she awaited 
him so eagerly touched him and filled him 
with a desire to be kind to her and help her, 
out of his vaster experience, to avoid difficul- 
ties that had beset him in his youth. He 
waved back to her, and saw her make signs 
for him to hurry, which he pretended not to 
understand. It was right she should be 
anxious to hear his story, but he realized 
that to preserve his dignity with the fullest 
effect the recital must come from him non- 
chalantly, as if it were somewhat of a bore. 
17 


THE GREEN C 


To this end he loitered, so that Edie, in an 
ecstasy of exhausted patience, left the gate- 
way and ran down the street toward him. 

“ Jackie!” she called. “ Hurry, and you’ll 
have a chance to ride over to Marshfield in 
an automobile!” 

Two emotions fought within Jack: the 
fall of his pride, and joy in the prospect of 
motoring. 

“What kind of a car?” he asked, deter- 
mined to show no enthusiasm. 

“A great big red one,” answered Edie, with 
feminine lucidity; “but if you don’t hurry 
they’ll be gone.” 

“Who?” Jack quickened his steps, and 
they trotted down the street side by side, 
while Edie panted out the essentials. 

“Some men. One’s going out to stay with 
Professor Marshfield for a while to make 
experiments or something. The other owns 
the auto. And there’s another man running 
it. He’s the handsomest — ” 

“That’s all girls think of.” They had 
reached the porch, and the front door opened 
under the hand of Mrs. Downing. 

There were two men in the hall, one with 
a neat little beard and queer tortoise-shell 
glasses attached to a black ribbon; the other, 
in full motor regalia, a tall man with a short 
18 


WHAT IT MEANT 


mustache and a touch of gray in his hair 
that deceived Jack in regard to his age. 

“We’re forced to ask you to guide us over 
to a place called Marshfield,” said this 
latter, whom Jack’s mother had introduced - 
as Mr. Carrington. “Do you know where 
it is?’’ 

“You bet I do,” answered Jack, promptly, 
and grew scarlet when they laughed. 

“You’re the man for us, then,” said the 
bearded one, in what Jack thought was an 
affected voice, but which really was the King’s 
English as the King of the English speaks it. 

“Come on, then. I’m sorry, Mrs. Down- 
ing, that we must rush off like this; but if 
I’m to leave Sanford at Marshfield’s and get 
back to the city to-night, I must be starting.” 

“I understand, Mr. Carrington.” 

“I’ll see you when I drop this youngster on 
the way back. I hope Bob will be home then, 
so I may get the chance to say hello to him.” 

“My husband will be very sorry if he misses 
so old a friend.” 

Meantime Emily had descended upon Jack, 
in the background, to inquire into the state 
of his hands. She was horrified at the result 
of her investigation, and they had come to 
a point in an argument between them when 
Jack raised his voice high in protest. 

19 


THE GREEN C 


“But you’ve got to have dirty hands in 
an automobile!” 

“ Certainly, certainly,” interrupted Mr. Car- 
rington, laughing. “I fear you don’t under- 
stand these masculine affairs. And washing 
takes up so much precious time.” 

They all bustled out chatting and laughing. 
Jack felt himself borne along on the tide 
which stripped him completely of the years 
that had been his barely five minutes ago, 
that turned him into a very young boy, so 
young that he did not know enough to re- 
sent it. 

He sat back in the great red leather- 
cushioned seat beside the chauffeur, and 
hungrily eyed the glittering levers and the 
strange wheels and pedals to his right. He 
had prided himself on knowing every make of 
car that passed his house; but here was a 
new one for him, by its size and looks im- 
portant enough for him to know. He was 
ashamed of his ignorance. If he had been 
asked the question he had put to Edie, his 
reply would have been no more intelligent 
than hers. He flushed at the thought. 

But he had little time to worry about 
this drop in his self-esteem. In a very few 
minutes they had completed the delicate 
task of backing out of the curved, narrow 
20 


WHAT IT MEANT 


roadway without annihilating the garden with 
those giant, clumsy wheels, and were on the 
highway waving good-by to the little group 
on the porch. 

Jack had made several bicycle trips to 
Marshfield, a matter of perhaps fifteen miles. 
It was rather a section than a town, with 
few houses other than the cottage and labora- 
tory of Professor Marshfield, whence it de- 
rived its name, and some large farming estates. 
These latter, with their attractive apple or- 
chards open to the raids of any boys who chose 
to invade them, accounted for Jack’s familiar- 
ity with the geography of the vicinity. The 
thought of these apples came to Jack while 
he sat alert in his seat peering importantly 
through the wind-shield, as they sped on 
with gaining speed, and his exulting heart 
gave an extra leap. High school seemed very 
far away, yet pleasant to think back to as 
part of this full day. He pictured himself 
telling Miskell of this ride, which reminded 
him to ask a leading question of the chauffeur. 

“What make auto is this?” 

The chauffeur grunted something he could 
not understand, and a glance at the unsmiling 
profile forbade the repetition of his query. 
Jack determined to look at the hubs when he 
alighted. He knew it was a fine model by 


THE GREEN C 

the smoothness and quiet with which it 
ran. 

Presently some of the beloved orchards 
flashed into view and drove other matters 
from his mind. Then Jack discovered that it 
was utterly impossible to make a simple sug- 
gestion that they should stop and gather the 
fruit. As each new orchard appeared in the 
distance Jack made up his mind to speak; but, 
though the car ate up the long roads swiftly, 
his courage ebbed even faster, and tree after 
tree was left behind untouched. Through it 
all, however, Jack had the exhilarating feeling 
that next time he might manage to say the 
fatal words. Once he did exclaim in the most 
natural manner : 

“What fine apples we’re passing! Say, 
they make you hungry to look — ” But just 
here he caught sight of the freezingly im- 
mobile face of the chauffeur, and it had the 
effect of unnerving him completely. He felt 
a qualm of anger against Edith, whose dis- 
loyalty had found that villain handsome. 

His duties as guide were very light. Once 
they struck the road there was only one fork 
where they could have gone wrong, and it 
was there that Jack covered himself with con- 
fusion. He was busy thinking of the apples 
they were passing and the chauffeur’s un- 
22 


WHAT IT MEANT 


happy disposition, so he mistook the meaning 
of this latter’s glance and succinct “This?” 
and nodded back to him pleasantly, feeling 
that this action would best propitiate the 
grim god of the wheel. The truth only 
dawned upon him after they had gone sev- 
eral yards down the wrong prong of the fork, 
and his smitten conscience caused him to 
announce the mistake more vehemently than 
necessary. 

“No!” he almost shouted. “I didn’t mean 
that! We’re wrong!” 

The jolt of the car from the none too gentle 
application of the brake nearly threw him 
into the ditch; but it did not upset him half 
so much as the sight of the muscles hardening 
on the chauffeur’s cheek, a sign Jack did not 
mistake for joy at his blunder. 

The two inmates of the tonneau, however, 
were cheerful enough over the error, and Mr. 
Carrington tried to put Jack at his ease. 

“You let us do that to show us how easy 
it would be to miss the road if you weren’t 
along, I suppose,” he suggested. “Very saga- 
cious, and we appreciate the lesson.” 

Of course now apples were a dream of the 
past, and Jack felt sure that if his enemy, 
the chauffeur, knew of a way of throwing 
him out of the car without wrecking the 
23 


, THE GREEN C 


whole party and losing his job he would have 
put it into practice. 

Some of Jack’s self-respect returned when 
he pointed out the insignificant-looking resi- 
dence of Professor Marshfield, and heard the 
two passengers exclaim that they never would 
have gone there in quest of their object had 
he not been along. 

“You’ve saved us a lot of valuable time, 
son,” declared Mr. Carrington, genially. 
“That would have been the last place I’d 
have thought to stop.” 

This was balm to Jack’s soul, especially 
as he knew the chauffeur could not very well 
help hearing it. , 

Jack stayed with the car when the two 
men went in to see Professor Marshfield. He 
did not relish the arrangement, but he was 
not given his choice. The chauffeur got out 
and commenced to examine the tires and the 
gear under the car, and poked about with a 
wrench and an oil-can in a way that fas- 
cinated Jack and thrilled him with a desire 
to get down and watch, especially as it was 
not often that he had the chance to be on 
such intimate terms with a motor-car. But 
the recollection that the chauffeur might be 
preparing a means of blowing up the car, 
now that he was alone in it, led him to scorn 

24 


WHAT IT MEANT’ 


to appear to retreat from what was a dis- 
tinctly disadvantageous and dangerous posi- 
tion. 

After a while the foe, satisfied with tight- 
ening a few nuts and oiling a few joints, put 
away his tools and proceeded to walk up and 
down humming a little time, which unortho- 
dox conduct on the part of the villain hurt 
Jack more than the most destructive ex- 
plosion his imagination could conceive. 

Fortunately, Jack did not have long to wait 
for the return of Mr. Carrington. For the 
first time Jack saw Professor Marshfield at 
close range, a small, rather stout man with 
attentive, penetrating eyes. 

"The Professor says when you’re out here 
on your wheel some time, you may stop off 
and he’ll let you get apples,” announced Mr. 
Carrington to Jack, who turned red with 
memories. "We haven’t time for them this 
afternoon, so we’ll just thank him and de- 
part.” 

"Come again, come again,” said the Pro- 
fessor, cordially, "and I am indebted to you 
for bringing Mr. Sanford out here. I hope 
we shall be able to send you good news of the 
results of our work together.” He shook Mr. 
Carrington’s hand very warmly, and Mr. 
Sanford followed suit, then waved to Jack. 
25 


THE GREEN C 


Mr. Carrington suggested that, now they had 
become acquainted with the road, Jack should 
share the rear seat with him, so that they 
might become acquainted with each other, 
and Jack hid his shyness and complied. They 
started back in the rich glow of the late after- 
noon. 

“I’ve never lost the feeling that I’m a 
truant for not going back to school in Sep- 
tember,” said Mr. Carrington, “and I’m 
being paid for all the time I didn’t want to 
go by wanting it now and being unable. 
You get lonesome for it this time of year, 
no matter how old you are — at least I do.” 

“I can’t imagine my getting lonesome for 
it,” grinned Jack. 

“It doesn’t last, of course. You have your 
business to attend to, and that fills your 
time.” 

“I was a little lonesome for grammar- 
school this morning,” conceded Jack, seizing 
this opportunity of setting Mr. Carrington 
right on certain matters. 

“You’re at high school, then?” Mr. Car- 
rington looked on him with obvious respect. 
“What year?” 

“Freshman.” 

“How do you like it?” 

"It’s all right.” Jack hesitated, for here 
26 


WHAT IT MEANT 


was a chance to make inquiries on the sub- 
ject nearest to his heart. “Did you go to 
college?’ * 

“Yes.” 

Jack wrestled with false pride and won. 

“What does it mean when you wear the 
letter of your college on your sweater? 
There’s a chap there says his brother had one, 
and he’s going to get one, too. Can you get 
it like that — in families?” 

“No” — Mr. Carrington did not laugh — 
“you have to win them.” 

“How?” 

“Athletics. You get them for playing on 
the winning team in any game, like football 
or baseball, or you can win ’em sprinting or 
swimming, or jumping or putting shot. Dif- 
ferent schools and colleges have different rules. 
Probably there’s a book you can get at your 
place that tells you just how to go about it.” 

“Thanks.” Jack glowed. “Can you start 
when you’re a freshman?” 

“You can’t start too early. I wouldn’t 
advise you to go out for football unless they 
have a freshman team; but there are lots of 
things you can do. Can you run?” 

“I’ve never tried,” answered Jack. 

“How about trying out for the baseball 
team?” 


27 


THE GREEN C 


“I can pitch pretty fair,” said Jack. “I 
could practise it up.” 

“It seems to me you have a good show of 
getting a letter, then. But look here, there’s 
one thing I’ve got to preach about, and that’s 
this. Your letter has got to mean more than 
just excelling in athletics to you.” 

“You mean lessons?” Jack grew visibly 
glum. He had heard these sermons before. 

“Not only lessons, though I mean them, 
too,” answered Mr. Carrington, at which Jack 
became interested. “Something harder than 
lessons. A letter ought to mean that you’re a 
good sport. Do you know what that is?” 

“A feller that won’t give in when he’s 
beaten,” hazarded Jack. 

“Not by a long shot. It’s the chap that 
plays the game as though his life depended 
on it, but wins or loses it as though he didn’t 
care. A good sport doesn’t crow and doesn’t 
whine, and when there’s any doubt as to 
whether a point in the game belongs to him 
rightly he always gives up cheerfully. He 
does the difficult thing when he might get 
off by doing the easy one. He may not al- 
ways do the right thing; but if he ever gets 
into a mess, he won’t crawl to get out. And the 
best sport in my college didn’t win his letter.” 

“How was that?” 


28 


WHAT IT MEANT 


“He was a sprinter, and the night before 
the meet his room-mate was taken sick. He 
attended to him all night and ran the next 
day without mentioning a word about it. 
No one would have found out to this day 
why he lost if his room-mate hadn’t told. 
It was his last show, too. You see, we had 
to win three races before we could wear our 
letter. He had won one. Afterward he ran 
in another and won it, though it made no 
difference about the letter.” 

“Why did he run, then?” 

“He was asked that, and he said he got 
'personal enjoyment out of doing his best.’ 
He was a queer duck, and when the boys 
weren’t thinking he was foolish they were 
admiring him tremendously. Some day when 
you read Don Quixote you’ll understand. The 
noblest things in the world have been called 
silly. But here’s a way of judging. Find 
out if you are doing a thing because you want 
to gain something by it, or because you think 
it’s the right thing to do. Then remember it 
isn’t what you get, but what you deserve, that 
counts. Understand?” 

“Sort of,” answered Jack, vaguely. 

“You will when you’re up against it and 
have to choose the hard thing to do,” nodded 
Mr. Carrington. 


3 


29 


THE GREEN C 


“You think I ought to try for my letter 
just for the trying, and not to care too much 
whether I get it or not?” 

“That’s about it. A pretty large order, 
eh?” 

“You bet.” Jack sat silent, thinking it 
out, and Mr. Carrington watched the serious 
young face and smiled. 

“I don’t entirely see how you can do it,” 
announced Jack, at last. “Because if you 
don’t care — ” 

“It’s the difference between working to do 
something real and worthy and working for 
pay. Your letter is only a sign that you’ve 
been paid for your work,” answered Mr. 
Carrington. 

“Yes, I see now. It’s what you know you 
are, yourself.” 

“You’ve hit it.” Mr. Carrington looked 
satisfied. “Now let’s cut out the moral in- 
struction, and tell me what your high school 
is like.” 

Before Jack knew it he had launched into 
a vivid description of that first day, the over- 
courteous upper-classman who had purposely 
misdirected him, the irate janitor, the big 
student who was the first to show him the 
coveted green C. When he told about his 
joy in meeting Miskell, and marveled on how 
30 


WHAT IT MEANT 


strangely friendly they had become in one 
day, Mr. Carrington related to him a remark- 
able story of two enemies who met in a town 
that was far away from their home, and their 
homesickness turned them into boon com- 
panions. 

The familiar street on which his house was 
situated appeared all too soon, and as Jack 
looked around at the landmarks he knew so 
well he had again the same thrill of having 
changed, of being a different boy from him 
who had gone by them last. 

When Mr. Carrington had left him on the 
Downing porch, and had again made the 
perilous backward tour of the driveway, Jack 
stood watching him, feeling that he was bid- 
ding adieu to a friend. 

It was not till after dinner that night that 
the excitement produced by the two visitors 
abated enough to let Edie inquire of Jack 
the details of his high-school career up to 
date. Gradually he told her all about it, 
and when they were alone in the library, the 
others being in the parlor entertaining curious 
neighbors who had seen the red motor-car, 
he told Edie of his intention to get a C. 

“What does it mean?” asked Edie. 

“It means,” answered Jack, filled with 
noble dreams — “it means you are such a 
31 


THE GREEN C 


good sport that you won’t care if you don’t 
get it after all.” 

He need not have looked so superior to 
Edith when she shook her mystified head 
helplessly. He could say the words glibly 
enough ; he might even have interpreted 
them very cleverly for Edie, but it would 
take several stern and bitter lessons before 
their full understanding would be driven home 
to him. 


Ill 


ON BEING A GOOD SPORT 

J ACK had some skill in pitching, as he 
had confided to Mr. Carrington. But 
he realized that if he intended to make his 
C on the diamond he must get into training 
and work. It’s one thing to play ball with 
boys in a vacant lot, and another to win a 
place on an organized high-school team. 
This Jack admitted to Miskell, together with 
the fact that to learn properly he must secure 
a good ball. Miskell was inclined to agree 
with him when Jack attributed his mediocre 
pitching heretofore to the inferior material 
he was forced to use. The best ball, the ball 
on which Jack had set his aspirations, cost 
exactly one dollar and a quarter, which meant 
that it would take five weeks of absolute 
starvation on Jack’s allowance to acquire it. 
Edie, like all girls, had managed to save out 
of her weekly money; but her twenty-three 
cents was of no use to Jack, even had he been 
willing to take the loan she offered. 

33 


THE GREEN C 


One day Miskell came to Jack with the 
news that he had found some one who knew 
a Junior named Barnes who was willing to 
sell his slightly used League ball for ninety 
cents; but, in the unfortunate state of Jack’s 
finances, ninety cents was scarcely more pos- 
sible than the full price. Jack, in discussing 
it with Edith, had a mind to mortgage his 
income for the next four weeks. 

“ They’d never let you do it,” declared 
Edie, decisively. 

“Well, if they were so much against it, 
they’d give me the four weeks’ money in ad- 
vance. I’d be satisfied with ninety cents in- 
stead of a dollar if they did that.” Jack was 
encouraged by Edie’s silence at this. He did 
not know it really was due to the fact that 
she was receiving a practical lesson in dis- 
count, which she felt she never had under- 
stood till now. 

“No,” she said, at length, returning from 
mathematics to ethics, “that wouldn’t do, 
either. It begins with a sort of falsehood. 
But I’ll tell you, I’ll speak to mother about 
it and see what I can do.” 

And the next night Edie triumphantly 
presented Jack with a square box containing 
a baseball from his mother. 

“We were out shopping, and I told her 
34 


ON BEING A GOOD SPORT 


how much you wanted one, and that you were 
going to try to save up for one. So she 
bought this. And do you know, Jack, I hate 
to say anything like this about any boy, 
but some one was trying to cheat you. This 
is a brand-new ball, and it cost only a quarter, 
and it’s a good one, because we saw others 
there that looked the same for five and ten 
cents; but we would not take them.” She 
glowed over her bargain; but Jack could not 
respond, neither could he reply. He felt it was 
impossible to explain these things to women. 
He decided that he would quietly return the 
ball to the shop, get back the quarter thrown 
away upon it, and use the money to swell 
his capital of five cents, saved toward pur- 
chasing the real one. 

Next day Miskell came to him in excite- 
ment to say he had offered Barnes sixty 
cents, and the offer had been considered and 
accepted, provided that Miskell could collect 
the sixty cents. Also he, Miskell, had earned 
an unexpected quarter the night before from 
an affluent uncle who paid one for running 
to town for cigars. So, Miskell concluded, 
an idea had come to him to form a company 
with Jack for joint ownership in the ball, 
Jack putting up his thirty, bringing the total 
to fifty-five cents, if Barnes would sell at 
35 


THE GREEN C 


this price. And, of course, Miskell added, 
his share in the ball was to the amount of his 
investment, which was not quite half. Jack 
generously offered that as commission on the 
transaction, which Miskell finally accepted. 
Barnes grudgingly lowered his price. Later 
they discovered he had seriously been con- 
sidering an offer of thirty-five cents from a 
classmate. 

The ball had been slightly more used than 
either of them had anticipated, but they pro- 
fessed to find this an advantage. Every one 
knows that no ball is at its best till it is 
“ broke in.” They managed to brand their 
names on the cover fairly legibly, “ J. Down- 
ing” for Jack, while “J. M.” had to do for 
the junior partner, since burning initials on 
a dirty kid sphere with a red-hot pen-knife 
loses its zest after the fifth letter. 

One afternoon it was Miskell’s misfortune 
to be detained after sessions for levity in 
chapel, a misdemeanor in which, for a wonder, 
Jack had not been involved. Jack promised 
to wait on the “ campus,” as they called the 
school-grounds, until the instructor felt Mis- 
kell had contemplated the seriousness of his 
offense sufficiently to discipline himself more 
strictly in the future. It appeared to take 
Miskell rather long to come to the proper 
36 


ON BEING A GOOD SPORT 


frame of mind, and Jack amused himself by 
tossing their ball high into the blue September 
sky and catching it, pretending to himself that 
he was fielding for his school team, and putting 
out man after man on the opposing side by 
catching all their most disconcerting flies. 

Suddenly at a doorway some distance away 
appeared the figure of the boy who had helped 
him in the hall that first day, big Graham, 
with his white sweater and the coveted C that 
had begun to mean so much to Jack. 

Now, one cannot show how well one can 
pitch by throwing a ball straight up in the air, 
and Jack felt this a good opportunity to let 
some Cleveland athlete see that he had the 
makings of a sensational pitcher in him. In- 
tending to send the ball with astonishing force 
up against the brick wall of the building, and 
running in, and to catch it on the rebound, 
Jack let fly. 

Perhaps it was the presence of so powerful 
a man as Graham that inspired Jack; he him- 
self tried in vain later to imitate that most 
thrilling and unexpected out-shoot. It was 
a marvelous bit of pitching, but, unfortunate- 
ly, badly placed. No one was more amazed 
at the result than Jack, for he had dashed for- 
ward expectantly before he realized that there 
was to be no rebound. With the jingle of 
37 


THE GREEN C 

flying glass the ball had completely van- 
ished. 

Jack’s knees bent under him, his jaw 
dropped, and he stood thus waiting for some- 
thing to happen. 

“It’s all right,” said a quiet voice behind 
him. “You didn’t break the window, what- 
ever else got smashed. The window was open.” 

Jack looked up into Graham’s face, wherein 
a desire to laugh was mingled with real con- 
cern for the unlucky freshman. 

“What ’ll I do?” gulped Jack. 

Graham considered. 

“First, come back here out of the open 
where you can watch the window till I get 
the hang of it. There’s nobody in there, or 
you’d have seen a head popping out long ago.” 

They stood partially concealed behind a 
ragged box-tree while Graham reckoned up 
what room had suffered from the bombard- 
ment. 

“Kid,” he said, solemnly, at the conclusion 
of his calculations, “you couldn’t have done 
better if you had tried. That was the chem 
laboratory, and if the building doesn’t blow 
up in five minutes I advise you to skip in 
there quietly and get back that ball as quick 
as you can. It’s best for all parties that they 
should think the cat did it.” 

38 


ON BEING A GOOD SPORT 


Jack turned white. 

“Do you really think there might be an 
explosion?” he asked, in a hoarse voice. 

“It depends on what sort of chemicals 
you’ve let loose together in here.” 

“Gee!” gasped Jack. “Miskell’s in the 
building, too.” 

But five minutes passed without any ap- 
preciable change in the landscape, and at the 
end of the time Graham permitted Jack to 
venture the recovery of his property. The 
door to the laboratory was locked, however, 
and it was with quaking heart that Jack re- 
turned to the campus, where he found Graham 
still waiting. 

“Got it?” asked Graham, cheerfully. 

“The door was locked,” answered Jack. 

“That’s funny. They must have forgotten 
the window was open. Well, it’s lucky for 
you that old Peyton and Stapleton weren’t 
dawdling round in there as they generally 
do. Still, there’s no telling when the janitor 
will get wise to that window. You’ve got to 
do some hasty burglar work. Are you game 
to let me boost you in?” 

“Sure,” replied Jack. 

“Come on, then, and keep your eyes open.” 

They crept stealthily toward the window. 
If Jack had not been rather unnerved at the 
39 


THE GREEN C 


reality of their danger, he would have been 
more impressed with the romance of it. Once, 
it is true, the thought of Edith’s scared eyes, 
when he should tell her about it, gave him 
a flash of satisfaction, instantly quenched 
when Graham stayed him with a touch on 
his arm, whispering: “Hush! Do you hear 
any one in the room?” It was a false alarm, so 
Jack climbed up on Graham’s broad back and 
cautiously viewed the scene of the catastrophe. 

“Take a good look before you get in,” 
warned Graham, softly. “It wouldn’t be 
much fun to land right in Stapleton’s loving 
embrace.” 

“It’s empty,” reported Jack. “Great 
Caesar’s ghost! What a mess!” 

He scrambled up on the sill, from which he 
let himself cautiously into the room. 

“I’ll hang round to see that you get out 
safe,” said Graham. “Whistle if you need 
me, two shorts and a long.” 

Jack nodded and turned to examine the 
room. It was a small laboratory used by 
the professors of special classes in advanced 
chemistry. It was furnished chiefly with a 
couple of tables, their zinc tops stained and 
corroded, some dusty wooden shelves, and a 
row of large sinks, in which stood pans and 
jars filled with liquids of various colors, 
40 









■ 




* 






<Y * ~m »%v. 


•ntWNc 


>♦ yUtfXfy'* 


♦»•■ 




su-a 


HE SCRAMBLED UP ON THE SILL 






































* 





















♦ 






t 


























ON BEING A GOOD SPORT 


whence ascended unsavory odors. Bottles of 
all sizes and shapes crowded the shelves, 
disputing their places with dilapidated books. 
Strange mechanical contrivances, photo- 
graphic plates, electric cells, and wooden 
boxes containing empty glass vessels that 
looked as though they had been crippled in 
the making, stood about on the floor or 
tables, or among the books and bottles on 
the shelves. A Bunsen burner was over- 
turned on one of the tables, and on the floor 
lay the remains of what had been a rather 
large retort, the contents of which now 
decorated the cement floor in eccentric de- 
signs. In the midst of this wet chaos lay the 
ill-fated ball. Jack hesitated, fascinated by 
the disorder he had managed to make, re- 
markable even amid so much disorder, and as 
he stooped a faint, malignant odor assailed 
his nostrils. He picked up the ball gingerly, 
and the odor became almost overpowering. 
He wondered if he were about to die from 
poisonous fumes set free by his own reckless- 
ness. He stood waiting to be suffocated; 
but, when it did not happen, moved softly 
toward the window. 

Suddenly something in the guilty position 
of his body, as he slunk along the wall, 
struck him disagreeably, and, utterly un- 

41 


THE GREEN C 


bidden, the thought of Mr. Carrington flashed 
upon him. Was he crawling? It occurred 
to him to wonder what a teacher would think, 
entering and finding him in this attitude. 
He stood still and tried to reason clearly and 
sensibly. How, for example, would Mr. Car- 
rington think it out? 

“He’d probably say, if it was my luck to 
smash up things, it’s my luck to take what’s 
coming to me for it. But that’s hard on me. 
I didn't mean to do it. Things just went 
wrong, by accident.” 

Of course, it was all an accident, and who 
would deliberately go and demand punish- 
ment for something he could not help? If 
there were any law involved that he had 
broken. . . . Dimly he was conscious of some 
rule he had heard against playing baseball on 
the school-grounds. Was that only in gram- 
mar-school, or was it here as well? 

If there were such a rule, he knew his 
ignorance of it would not help him. The 
matter was serious; it might involve ex- 
pulsion. He clutched the ball tighter and 
moved nearer the window. The sound of 
footsteps outside brought him to his knees 
on the floor, hiding behind a table. Crouched 
thus, he started again toward his means of 
escape. Then he stopped and stood bolt 
42 


ON BEING A GOOD SPORT 


upright with burning cheeks. No need to 
wonder what constituted “ crawling” now. 
He despised himself utterly! 

It was natural now for him to go to the 
other extreme. Perhaps it did seem foolish 
for him not to take his chance and escape 
when he had the ball, and he could get away 
so easily; but Mr. Carrington had warned 
him that the right thing often looked silly, 
and had spoken in praise of those who scorned 
to use the easy way. jack seemed to swell 
with joy at his own regeneration. The time 
had come, as Mr. Carrington had predicted, 
when he was “up against it,” and he had the 
chance to show himself to be a good sport. 
Surely if this misfortune were worthy of ex- 
pulsion, sneaking out of the consequences 
sunk him even lower. The first was pure 
accident; but the second would be cowardly 
design. Whatever he got, he determined he 
would not deserve worse. 

He felt he had grown several inches taller 
while he was deciding thus, and it was with 
a flourish, though there was no one there to 
see, that he took out his fountain-pen and 
blotted his partner’s initials from the ball, 
being careful to leave his own name clear to 
the view. This required something besides 
moral courage, for he was not sure how the 
43 


THE GREEN C 


fluid in which the ball had been drenched 
would respond to a treatment of ink. 

At last, leaving the ball carefully on the 
spot from which he had taken it, his head 
aching from the intolerable odor of the mix- 
ture he had upset, Jack made his way up- 
right and empty-handed to the window, and 
waving gallantly to the figure of Graham in 
the distance, he placed his hand upon the sill 
with no vestige of caution, and vaulted out 
upon the soft grass beneath. Even as he did 
so Miskell appeared from a door near by, 
and watched his spectacular exit with stony 
amazement. 

Graham went up to Jack anxiously. 

“What happened? Couldn’t you find it? 
You’ve been a terribly long time!” 

Now, in the open air before the eyes of 
Graham and in the presence of the approach- 
ing Miskell, Jack became conscious that his 
exaggerated sense of honor was beginning to 
seem absurd. Mr. Carrington had warned 
him that these matters appear foolish to 
others, but had neglected to arm him against 
the discouragement of finding them foolish 
himself. Jack began to wish inwardly that 
he had been less heroic. 

“No.” He lied shamefacedly. “I couldn’t 
find it.” 


44 


ON BEING A GOOD SPORT 


“ What's the matter?” asked Miskell, run- 
ning up at this point. “What were you 
jumping out that window for?” 

“He pitched his ball into the laboratory, 
and it got lost,” answered Graham. “Did 
you do any damage?” 

“Yes, a big glass thing filled with some 
awful stuff. It's given me a headache.” 
Jack looked it. 

“Oh, cricky!” cried Miskell, excitedly. 
“What do you suppose they will do about 
it?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Is the ball in there yet?” 

“Yes.” 

“Great Scott, it has my initials on it — and 
your name!” 

“Your initials — I got ink on them, and they 
don’t show,” stammered Jack, who, not being 
well up in lying, found the details of the game 
hard to master. 

“The ball has your name on?” repeated 
Graham. “What do you mean?” 

“We burnt it on, in case the ball got lost 
or swiped,” explained Miskell. 

“Is it easy to make out?” 

“Sure — dead easy.” 

“And you came out of that place without 
it?” Graham turned on Jack. 

4 45 


THE GREEN C 


“It smelt so in there,” apologized Jack, his 
face flaming. “I couldn’t stand looking for 
it.” 

“Then look out of the way.” Graham 
backed up for a running jump toward the 
window. But suddenly Jack’s faith in him- 
self returned. He and his conscience had 
put up too good a fight to give in now. 

“What are you going to do?” he demanded, 
standing in Graham’s way. “You mustn’t 
go in there.” 

“Look out! I’m going after that ball. 
You’ll be in a fine mess if they find it with 
your name on it.” 

“Don’t!” Jack held him back eagerly. 
“The janitor will catch you — and the stuff 
I upset is fearful. It’s poison; it almost 
killed me, and it’s getting worse all the time.” 

“All the more reason why we’ve got to get 
the ball,” was the dogged answer. “Let go; 
the longer you hold me back the better chance 
I have of getting caught.” 

He broke away from Jack, and in another 
minute had crossed the lawn and landed skil- 
fully on the window-ledge. But Jack was 
close behind him, and now hung on to him 
desperately by the foot. 

“Listen, please listen,” begged Jack, forced 
into the truth at last; “I did find the ball.” 

46 


ON BEING A GOOD SPORT 


“ Where is it?” Graham was not to be 
fooled. 

Jack shook his head hopelessly. 

“ I didn’t bring it out with me. I — decided 
— it was — squarer — to leave — it — in there.” 

Graham nearly fell down on top of him. 

“You what /” he all but shouted. 

“ Really. You can see it from where you’re 
sitting. I blotted out your initials, Miskell, 
so that’s all right,” Jack added, quickly, to 
Miskell, who stood staring incredulously. 

“You mean you want to leave it there?” 
asked Graham. 

‘ * Y es — yes — yes !” J ack’s courage returned 
threefold. Open argument gave him strength. 

“Do you know they may expel you for 
this?” Graham still sat on his uncomfort- 
able perch, and tried to reason with the mad 
young freshman. 

“I don’t care!” To his horror, Jack found 
his lips trembling, and he was seized with a 
terrifying desire to cry. “Please leave it 
there. I want it to stay, and I’d ten times 
rather be expelled than be a sneak.” 

“A sneak!” repeated Miskell, dazed. “Is 
it a sneak to want your ball back when you’ve 
lost it? It was my ball, too, and I want my 
half of it.” 

But Graham had heard the tremor of sin- 
47 


THE GREEN C 


cerity in Jack's voice. He had dropped to 
the ground beside them. 

“No,” he said; “ you'll get it when the time 
comes. And if the kid wants to leave it 
there, it's going to stay there. And say" — 
his hand fell heavily on Jack’s shoulder as 
that person stood with bent head — "I don't 
know what put you up to all that foolishness; 
but, by gum, I bet there’s a lot more sense 
behind it than you'd think. You’re all right, 
whether you’re crazy or not." And he strode 
away shaking his head and chuckling to him- 
self in evident delight. 

But however much pleasure Graham got 
out of the situation, Miskell and Jack stood 
shrouded in gloom, Miskell being even more 
miserable than his companion, having no 
sense of martyrdom to buoy him up. 

“ Say," he said, atlast, “ it’s really as muchmy 
ball as yours. I ought to be expelled, too, if you 
are. You had no right to blot out my initials." 

“You didn’t do the pitching," returned 
Jack. “I’m not going to be expelled for 
owning the ball. It’s because I couldn’t 
steer it. But it sure was a wonderful curve! 
I wonder how I did it!" Jack eyed the scene 
of the late tragedy with ill-suppressed ad- 
miration. “Just look, I was standing over 
here when I did it." 


48 


ON BEING A GOOD SPORT 


“I'd like to have seen it,” said Miskell, 
warming up. 

“You didn’t see anything. You just heard 
things breaking.” Jack shuddered. “Come 
on, let’s get away from here, and don’t say 
anything about this till to-morrow, anyway.” 

“I wish I understood you,” burst out Mis- 
kell. “You just calmly threw up the sponge 
when everything was going your way. It 
was so easy!” 

“That’s it; it was too easy. And I didn’t 
understand till it just happened. Misk, a 
man told me that it isn’t what you get, but 
what you deserve, that you’ve got to worry 
about. If I get kicked out for something I 
couldn’t help, it isn’t half so bad as feelin’ 
I ought to be kicked out for bein’ sneaky.” 

“Oh, but this is only — ” Miskell was 
unable to say what. 

“Let’s quit talking about it,” said Jack, 
impatiently. “It’s done, and I’m glad of it. 
Only I wonder — ” 

“What?” asked Miskell, hopefully. 

“I kind of wonder if I’d ever be able to do 
it again.” 

But whether he was referring to his wonder- 
ful throw or his moral victory, Miskell was 
unable to tell, and dared not ask. 


IV 


THE PRIDE THAT GOETH AFTER A FALL 


HAT’S the matter, Jack?” 



V V Edie had been watching Jack furtively 
for some time, ever since their parents had 
gone out and Emily had left them alone while 
she entertained a guest in the parlor. 

Jack now started up and clutched at his 
Latin home-work. 

“Why?” he asked, in his most natural 
tones. 

“I don’t know” — Edie was at a loss; 
“you’re acting sort of queer. Don’t you feel 


well?” 


“I’ve got a headache,” answered Jack. 
“Headache? That’s from those horrid cold 
lunches. I don’t see why they don’t give 
you time to come home to eat as we do.” 
Edie was obviously quoting more maternal 
lips. 

“Well, you’re mistaken. It’s not from that 
at all; it’s from something entirely different.” 
There was a note of triumph in Jack’s voice. 


PRIDE AFTER A FALL 


“From what?” Edie showed marked lack 
of conviction. 

“Some stuff that was upset in the chemical 
laboratory. It smelt horrible.” 

“Poison?” Edie at last looked impressed. 

“I suppose so.” 

“I think chemistry ought to be abolished,” 
declared Edie, hotly. “I don’t see any sense 
in it. Did you get any over you?” 

“Just a little, on my fingers.” 

“Where?” 

“You can’t see it.” Jack himself had 
searched for it in vain. 

“How could they be so careless as to upset 
anything like that? Who did it?” 

Jack looked uncomfortable. “It was just 
an accident,” he said. 

“It was very stupid for them to permit 
accidents. The teacher — ” 

“The teacher wasn’t there,” broke in Jack, 
exasperated. 

“And they let a lot of boys in the chemical 
laboratory without a teacher?” cried Edie, 
aghast, taking some pleasure, however, in 
having got over “chemical laboratory” so 
fluently. 

“There weren’t a lot of boys in there.” 
Jack was losing his temper. 

“Jack” — Edie sat up and looked at him 
51 


THE GREEN C 


sharply — “did some boys go in there when 
they had no business to, and upset things 
they had no right to touch?” 

“There wasn’t any one in the room when 
the poison upset,” was the prompt answer. 

“ You needn’t be afraid to tell me the truth, 
Jack,” said Edie, reproachfully; “you know 
I never tell. Or just say,” she added, sorrow- 
fully, “that you don’t care to tell me any 
more, since you go to high school and I’m 
only in the grammar. But don’t try to lie 
to me.” 

“I’m not lying!” snapped Jack. He tried 
to return to his Latin, but Edie’s eyes bored 
through his most studious pose. 

“Did you upset that poison?” asked Edie, 
finally, in a voice so solemn and sepulchral 
that it sent a shiver down Jack’s back. Then 
he looked straight back at his sister, and gave 
her as good as she had sent. 

“Yes,” he said, defiantly; “I did.” 

“Oh, Jack” — the tears welled in Edie’s 
round eyes — “how could you have told me 
a story, then, and said there wasn’t any one 
in the room?” 

“There wasn’t.” 

“Oh, Jack—” 

“Baseball.” The explanation was brief but 
clear. Edie’s sadness gave place to fright. 

52 


PRIDE AFTER A FALL 

She sat stunned a moment, then managed to 
whisper as though there was a chance of 
being overheard by the authorities: 

“Did you break a window?” 

“No; that was open.” 

“Do they know you did it?” 

“My ball’s in there with my name on it.” 

“Couldn’t you get it back?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why didn’t you? Were you scared to 
go in the room for it?” 

“I did go in.” 

“Oh, then it was that dreadful poison?” 

“No.” 

“Then” — Edie began to grow bewildered — 
“couldn’t you find the baseball?” 

“I had it in my hand.” 

“And you left it there! Why on earth — ” 

“Because I wanted to.” 

There was a long pause. 

“Did somebody find you there?” It was 
Edith’s last guess. 

“No.” 

“You just left it there so’s somebody will 
find it?” 

“Yes.” 

Edith swallowed hard and tried not to 
expect too much as she put the deciding 
question. 


S3 


THE GREEN C 


4 'Is it — is it because — because you want 
to own up?” 

“Yes, yes — don’t let’s talk about it.” 
Jack was really embarrassed by her adoring 
eyes, and in desperation again attacked his 
Latin. 

“Jackie,” said Edie, at last, in the voice of 
one in a church, “I think you are the noblest 
boy in the world.” 

Jack tried not to glow visibly under this 
opinion, which was a practical confirmation of 
one he held himself just then, so he said, 
gruffly: 

“You won’t think so when I’m expelled.” 

“Do you suppose they’ll expel you?” de- 
manded Edie, horrified. 

“If they do,” said Jack, as nonchalantly as 
he could, “I shall go into business. I have 
a pretty good business head.” He was think- 
ing of the baseball transaction. “And I guess 
I’m pretty honest.” 

“Oh, when people hear of this they’ll just 
clamor for you to work for them,” declared 
Edie, positively. “It’s the honestest thing 
I ever heard of.” 

“After all, most of the big millionaires 
started in when they were about my age,” 
said Jack. “Only,” he conceded, “they 
weren’t expelled from school.” 

54 


PRIDE AFTER A FALL 


“For being honest,” supplemented Edie, 
loyally, and with unconscious satire. 

Thereupon they proceeded to neglect their 
lessons, and held a long and grave conference 
on Jack’s future, his prospects, his remarkable 
qualities. It was a very bright and prosper- 
ous career they mapped out for him, in the 
contemplation of which Jack mysteriously 
lost his headache, and they both stayed up 
later than they should. 

Jack went to bed filled with pride and 
comfort. He thought up a beautiful letter 
to Mr. Carrington, acquainting him with the 
whole affair in a modest way, but came to 
the conclusion that there would be no excuse 
for this communication until he was ex- 
pelled. He wondered if he really wanted to 
be expelled. Fair as a business life had seemed 
to him, he felt a homesick tenderness for 
Miskell and the yellow-brick building that 
was already beginning to take a hold on his 
heart. Then there was the winning of his C. 
He did not enjoy the thought of having to 
give up all that and to lay aside the thoughts 
of baseball forever. For Jack realized that 
once you are in business you are a man, and 
once you are a man baseball degenerates into 
foolish little games of one-o’-cat in the front 
garden or the knocking out of flies with your 
55 


THE GREEN C 


nephew’s ball. Decidedly life was serious and 
rather sad — and fortunately here he dropped 
off to sleep. 

The next day he squeezed Edie’s sym- 
pathetic hand when they parted, and he 
went on his way prepared in his mind for 
disgrace or unexpected honor. He did not 
know how they expelled a boy. Did they 
stand him up in chapel and bid him leave the 
place forever in the sight of the assembled 
students? Jack almost enjoyed the thought 
of his dramatic exit, when he could go out 
feeling he had done what only a noble few 
would have the courage to do. 

On the other hand, he wondered if by any 
chance, through Graham or Miskell, or some 
instructor who had been an invisible witness 
to the incident, it might be taken up the 
other way and he be publicly applauded and 
held up as an example of a boy with lofty 
ideals. 

Miskell greeted him with a whisper that he 
had seen nothing significant and heard less. 

“They don’t seem even to know about it,” 
he went on. “Maybe they haven’t found the 
ball yet. I looked at the laboratory window, 
and it was still open.” 

“So did I,” confessed Jack; “but I don’t 
think it is open quite so far. They have to 
56 


PRIDE AFTER A FALL 


keep it up to get air in after the poison I 
upset.” 

“Oh, did you find out it really was poison?” 
demanded Miskell, thrilled. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” nodded Jack, “because of 
the headache I got from it.” 

The bell bidding them march to chapel 
struck cold terror to Jack's heart. 

“What’s the matter, Downing?” asked 
Stockton, the class teacher, startled at Jack’s 
pallor. “Aren’t you well? Do you want to 
be excused from chapel this morning?” 

“No, thanks, sir,” answered Jack. 

Better be in chapel and hear the worst 
than stay in an empty class-room for fifteen 
or twenty minutes and expect it. Yet Jack 
almost changed his mind at the chapel door, 
hearing the shuffle of many feet and the 
martial strains of the already familiar morn- 
ing march. 

The hymn was sung, the daily reading from 
the Scriptures followed, and then Dr. Hall 
arose. 

“Boys,” he said, “I have a great honor and 
a great pleasure in store for you.” Jack 
turned scarlet. He wondered if he were dream- 
ing. He wished that Edie were there to hear. 
“We have among us one whose personal nobil- 
ity of character has contributed much to the 
57 


THE GREEN C 


bettering of this little world of ours; whose 
example will inspire men long after he has 
ceased to be.” Even Jack felt he was laying 
it on a little too thick. “Boys, I feel sure 
you need no introduction to one so universally 
honored and beloved as the Reverend Doctor 
Ralph Buckminster Klink.” 

In the thunderous applause that followed 
the rising and bowing of the little feathery- 
haired, gold-spectacled clergyman, Jack felt 
as though he were about to swoon. Doubtless 
the Rev. Dr. Buckminster Klink spoke well, 
doubtless there was much in what he said, 
especially on the subject of humility, that 
would have been of lasting service to Jack, 
had he heard it. But while the boys around 
him strained to catch the words that were 
being poured out to them from the platform, 
while they laughed or murmured approval or 
applauded vehemently, Jack sat as one carved 
out of stone. At last there was another 
rousing clapping of hands, and the Reverend 
Doctor took his seat. 

Dr. Hall thanked him in the name of the 
students, and gave the signal for a rising 
chord. The first strains of the march were 
checked suddenly. Dr. Hall again was speak- 
ing. 

“One moment, please,” he said. “I for- 
58 


PRIDE AFTER A FALL 


got to mention one thing.” Jack remained 
entirely unmoved this time. '‘Some of the 
freshmen do not know yet that there is a 
strict rule against baseball practice of any 
sort on the school-grounds. I do not wish 
to hear of this rule being broken.” Jack held 
his breath and waited for more; but Dr. 
Hall merely nodded to the pianist to take 
up the march where he had left off, and the 
stamping of feet began again as the boys 
trailed out of chapel. 

"Gee!” exclaimed Miskell, as they piled 
into their class-room, "do you suppose he 
knows about it, or was that just a hunch he 
got, or what?” 

"I don’t know,” answered Jack, shaking 
his head gloomily. "It looks bad. They’re 
hatching up something. Oh, say, why can’t 
they come right out and be done with it?” 

All day he lived in a state of nervous ten- 
sion. Every time the class-room door opened 
he expected an official representative of the 
board of education to ask him to step aside. 

Lunch-time came at last, and Jack, with 
Miskell as support, went in search of Graham, 
to find out, if possible, what had happened. 
A boy in Graham’s class, who had humorous 
round eyes and hair like a door-mat, told 
them that Graham always went home to 
59 


THE GREEN C 


lunch, and he added a suggestion as to which 
gates he was wont to use, that they might 
not miss him on his return. Jack and Miskell 
thanked him and proceeded to man these 
gates, and to Jack fell the good-fortune of 
sighting the big senior, swinging up the path. 
Graham saw him at the same moment, and 
smiled in friendly greeting. 

“What’s happening? What are they going 
to do?” asked Jack, eagerly, rushing up to 
him. 

“There’s nothing happening, is there?” 
asked Graham. 

“No; but are they doing anything, do 
you think, that may happen later?” The 
language of conspirators is always a little 
incoherent. 

“Not a thing. Rest easy in your mind. I 
went in to see Stapleton this morning. He’s 
in charge of the little lab, you know. Of 
course, old Duffy was in there with the ball 
as prompt as sunrise. I explained it to Sta- 
pleton, and he listened all the way through, 
then said he thought maybe you’d had enough 
punishment, and he’d regard the incident as 
closed. Old Duff wanted to raise a rumpus 
about the mess you had made on the floor, 
and he tried to get off some gag about getting 
sick from the smell of the stuff you upset; 

60 


PRIDE AFTER A FALL 


but Stapey soon settled that by telling him 
if he could mention anything that could smell 
less obnoxious than distilled water he’d be 
interested as chemist to know of it.” 

“Was that water?” asked Jack, incredu- 
lously. 

“Yes, they’d been double distilling it for 
an experiment where it had to be extra pure, 
and there was some left in the retort.” 

“ Gee! And he thought it made him sick?” 
giggled Jack. 

“So did you,” returned Graham, grinning. 
“You forget you told me that to keep me out 
of the room. But Stapey says you can get 
a real headache from imagination, and that 
room is always awfully strong. Were you in 
chapel this morning?” 

“Sure.” 

“Well, that was Stapey’s doing, all that 
junk Doc Hall said about freshmen and 
baseballs. He thought it best to warn every- 
body that there are rules. You can get your 
ball by applying to old Duffy in the Janitor’s 
Bower after school. So long; I’ve got some 
work to look over. Don’t worry, and be 
glad it’s the beginning of the term, when 
you’re not supposed to be so well up on the 
regulations. Say, I could see Stapey liked 
the part about your not wanting to sneak 

5 61 


THE GREEN C 

out with the ball when you could have done 
it so easy.” 

Miskell, the faithful, was still waiting at the 
other door when Jack went to look for him. 

“Did you catch him? He hasn’t come in 
this way, and we’ll be late if we hang round 
here much longer,” greeted Miskell. 

“I saw him,” answered Jack, “and it’s all 
right. He told Stapleton, and Stapleton 
liked my going back and then not taking the 
ball. So he’ll let me off. And that business 
in chapel was aimed at me. Did you know 
there was a regular rule against playing ball 
on the campus?” 

“I kind of imagined it,” replied Miskell, 
truthfully. 

“Well,” Jack hesitated, “I didn’t exactly 
know. They have some awful silly rules.” 

This was as near as they dared get to call- 
ing the rule in question foolish in the face 
of what had happened. Miskell ingenuously 
showed the trend of his thoughts by his next 
query, which he put as they mounted the 
stairs to return to their room. 

“Did he find out what you upset that 
smelt so awful?” 

Jack looked at him sharply. For the first 
time he was sorry he had not inundated the 
building with noxious fluids. 

62 


PRIDE AFTER A FALL 


“It didn't smell. It was just the stuff in 
the sink that gave me that headache.” 

“But you said — ” 

“ The janitor thought so, too ; but it wasn’t,” 
interrupted Jack. “It was just water they 
were distilling. But it’s good the lamp wasn’t 
lit,” he added, with a gleam of satisfaction, 
“or I might have blown up the whole place 
and you with it.” 

But Miskell was not disturbed by prob- 
abilities that had not come to pass. It re- 
mained for him to stamp out the only spark 
of pride now left in Jack, as they entered the 
room: 

“Say, I guess maybe it was because it was 
only water that they let you off so easy, eh?” 


V 

THE HERO 

“/"^OING to the game?” Cartwright asked 
vJ Jack, one morning a week or two 
later. 

“What game?” asked Jack. 

Cartwright looked duly shocked and amazed 
at his ignorance. 

“You consider yourself a loyal Cleveland 
student, and you don’t know that we open 
the football season with Newton to-morrow?” 

“Oh,” said Jack, “that—” 

“I can’t understand you fellows,” declared 
Cartwright, warmly, “that come to school 
and get all the advantages and never do any- 
thing in return, and don’t feel that you owe 
your alma mater any sort of duty or respect. 
It’s up to us to go to all the games and root 
for Cleveland and make a decent showing 
on the bleachers. It encourages your team 
when they see a lot of you there yelling for 
them. But then I don’t suppose it matters 
to you whether your team wins or not?” 

64 


THE HERO 


“ Certainly it does,” answered Jack, his 
face flushing, partly because of his inability 
to think up a more cutting reply. 

“ You’re like all these boobs that talk a 
lot and never do anything,” declared Cart- 
wright, disgustedly. 

“ I’ll do a lot more for Cleveland than you 
will,” retorted Jack. 

“Ye-ah! You’ll go right in and join the 
football team and win a couple of games for 
her, without even knowing how to play,” 
prophesied Cartwright, sarcastically. “Oh, 
sure, you’re too clever to learn.” 

Jack’s temper was beginning to boil. 

“Say,” he said, doubling up his fist, “would 
you like to get soaked in the eye?” 

Cartwright’s ambitions along this line never 
were stated, for Stockton entered the room 
at that minute and called the class to semi- 
order, so that they might be ready at the 
ringing of the bell to go down to their next 
lesson in another room. 

Miskell had not been present at this inter- 
view, which made a strong impression upon 
Jack. He admitted to himself that he was 
remiss not to have known of this matter, but 
he was particularly sorry that he had not 
answered Cartwright’s attack more effect- 
ively. He realized that he should have said, 
6s 


THE GREEN C 


quietly: “Yes, I am most interested in my 
high school, and I want to see her win, but 
I do not consider it loyalty to go out of my 
head on the subject, like some people.” Or 
better still: 11 1 am not conceited enough to 
think my rooting would win the game for 
Cleveland. I give more credit to the players/ ’ 
That would have been the answer, but, like 
all good answers, it had not occurred to him 
in time. 

At lunch-hour he drew Miskell to a bulletin- 
board with a casual, “Let’s see what’s going 
on.” 

There, sure enough, was the green-and-white 
announcement of the coming game, with an 
elaborately drawn portrait of two automatons 
in rather ususual football gear, engaged in 
fouling each other at the immediate risk of 
being demolished under a rickety goal-post. 

“That’s right,” said Jack, in the tone of 
one contemplating the arrival of a long-an- 
ticipated event, “the game with Newton is 
on to-morrow.” 

“Say, look at here!” exclaimed Miskell, 
who was reading elsewhere. “Here’s a chap 
that’s lost a pair of shoes. How do you 
s’pose he did that?” 

“Where?” Jack’s interest in athletics sub- 
sided for a minute. “Oh, gym shoes! They 
66 


THE HERO 


could easily have been swiped out of his 
locker. Are you going to the Newton game?” 

“Me!” demanded Miskell, with ungram- 
matical astonishment. “What would I do 
watching a football game when I don’t know 
a blessed thing about it?” 

“That’s just it, you ought to learn.” 

“You can’t learn by watching, unless you 
have some idea to begin with.” 

“Yes, you can. It’s the only way. Besides, 
you owe it to your team to show some in- 
terest in them.” 

“Sure,” grinned Miskell, “they’re just 
waiting for my interest!” 

“Every one counts,” said Jack, uncon- 
sciously duplicating the very tone and words 
that he had resented that morning. “It’s 
our plain duty to Cleveland to go to all the 
games and root for the team. It encourages 
them to know we’re there on the bleachers 
yelling for them. It’s the least we can do.” 

“Well,” said Miskell, good-humoredly, 
“I’ve got better ways of spending my Satur- 
days than sitting on a hard bench and getting 
my throat sore making a noise over some- 
thing I can’t understand. Nix! I’ll appoint 
you my representative, and you can go and 
be loyal and patriotic for me.” 

“I’d be ashamed to be as indifferent as 
67 


THE GREEN C 


you,” declared Jack, wondering why which- 
ever side he took in an argument seemed to 
be the weak one. “And I am going, anyway, 
you bet.” 

To his credit be it said that he wavered 
but little when he discovered that the making- 
good of this resolve would deprive him of his 
week’s money at one fell swoop. At least 
he could look Cartwright in the eye, and he 
decided to pretend that he had really been 
going to this game all along, and had only 
spoken as he had to test Cartwright’s sense 
of humor. 

The next day he was among the crowds at 
the gate of the football field, looking in vain 
for a familiar face. It seemed strange how 
few of his own classmates had the proper 
college spirit. He would have welcomed the 
figure of Cartwright with open arms. More- 
over, all the others seemed to be in groups, or 
pairs at least; only he was alone, and he felt 
curious eyes upon him from all sides because 
of it. 

Luckily, there was no one to demand from 
him an official account of the game at its 
close. He had a hazy idea that Cleveland 
had won — an opinion gleaned from the ac- 
tions and remarks of the Cleveland students, 
decorated with streaming ribbons of green 
68 


THE HERO 


and white, who sat on all sides of him. As a 
matter of fact, his whole attention had been 
attracted and held by one figure, a scrubby- 
haired, wiry member of his own team, who 
seemed everywhere at once, and to whose lot 
fell play after play, and all sensational. It 
is doubtful whether Jack would have been 
able to keep his eye on him so steadily in 
the confusing scrimmages that took place 
during the game, had not this player been 
particularly distinguished from the others by 
the fact that he wore no head-guard other than 
his own rough, characteristic, dust-colored 
mane. Jack remembered Cartwright had 
mentioned that Graham was on the team. 
He had come with the intention of watching 
him, since he felt somewhat the ownership 
of acquaintance with him. But, having dis- 
covered that no less than six out of the 
eleven members of the team seemed to be 
Graham, he lost interest and chose to follow 
the movements of some more individual 
figure. 

It was with a thrill of pride in his own 
judgment, then, that he heard one boy ask 
his companion “who was that bareheaded 
guy that seemed to be all over the place.’ ’ 
To which the other answered, “That’s Stan- 
ton.” 


69 


THE GREEN C 


“Bub Stanton, the captain?” inquired the 
first. 

“Sure; isn’t he some class?” 

“Regular greased lightning.” 

Which bit of unsubstantiated physics 
seemed to Jack to describe his hero exactly. 

For hero is what Stanton had become to 
Jack by the time the whistle blew over the 
last down and the game was called. He, 
who had been unable all along to join in the 
Cleveland yell, his voice sounding so weirdly 
conspicuous in his own ear, joined in the shout 
that went up at the end of the game for 
Stanton — the incomparable Bub ! He lis- 
tened eagerly to the remarks that were being 
made on all sides about the well-beloved 
captain, and he glowed as though he had a 
personal share in this popularity. He wished 
that for Stanton’s sake he knew more about 
the game, and decided that his next money 
would go on a book of rules and plays. 

Edie that evening was entertained by a 
spirited though necessarily sketchy account of 
the remarkable football talents of the captain 
of the Cleveland eleven. 

“You should have seen him when he did 
get the ball and ran down the field with all the 
others after him! Oh, say! Only he tripped 
over some one who just grabbed his legs.” 

70 


THE HERO 


4 ‘How mean!’' cried Edie, indignantly. 

Whereat Jack launched into an explanation 
of the game that would have paralyzed an 
expert, whitened the hair of the good Dr. 
Hall, struck terror to the hearts of the bold- 
est players in the country, and had the noble 
pastime abolished by humanitarians in less 
than a week. 

“That,” said the horrified Edie, at the con- 
clusion, “is nothing but barbarous. If you 
ever dare to get on the team” — she spoke, 
Jack noted with a grim little smile, as though 
it were as easy to get on the team as to step 
on a car — “I shall tell mother how they play, 
and have her make you resign at once. I 
never saw such silly creatures as boys ! 
They can’t have any fun unless they’re kill- 
ing one another. I think football is just 
wicked!” 

“Sure, a girl would think that,” said Jack, 
gratified. 

About this time Jack began to suffer acute- 
ly from Latin verbs. Hilton, his Latin in- 
structor, was a verb specialist, and maintained 
often in the presence of his classes and else- 
where, that when you have mastered the verbs 
of any language you have practically mas- 
tered the language. Moreover, he not only 
set forth this theory, he believed in it and 
7i 


THE GREEN C 


was influenced by it pedagogically, so that 
while Jack found it possible to slip through 
the declensions of nouns and adjectives with- 
out close enough application to interfere with 
his health, happiness, or the pursuit of more 
interesting business, verbs demanded study. 
But no sooner had he learned how to tack 
endings on a root than he found he was tack- 
ing them onto the wrong roots, because, one 
day when he was not looking, a whole new 
set of endings had been sprung on the class, 
to be used according to the instructor’s 
pleasure. This, it appeared, Was governed 
solely by the instructor’s personal affection 
or dislike for the boys who were droning out 
synopses in class or eating calcium carbonate 
in the back room under the impression that 
they were writing them on the blackboard. 

For some reason Jack fell under the ban of 
those in whom Hilton delighted not. It may 
have been due to the fact that Jack, feeling he 
had discovered his teacher’s baleful system, 
refused, on principle, to study for him at all. 
This mark of his disapproval might have been 
passed by unnoticed; Hilton being a busy 
man, might have gone on scoring the usual 
number of failures beside Jack’s name in the 
mark-book without thought, had it not been 
for the celebrated occasion on which Jack con- 
72 


THE HERO 


vulsed the class by declining the verb fleo as 
fleo, fleonis , under the impression that it was 
a substantive which he delicately translated 
as “a small black insect.’ ’ 

It was difficult for Hilton to accept this 
as anything but gross disorder, though it had 
been done in all innocence, so Jack was set 
to writing out the synopsis of fleo in its proper 
capacity ten times in his empty class-room 
before he left the building that afternoon. 

Jack sat hunched miserably over the long 
sheet of yellow paper, referring at desperate 
intervals to a grammar that seemed to be of 
no use save to get in the way of his elbow, or 
to drop off the desk with unnerving thumps, 
or to catch the blots that dropped from Jack’s 
too thoroughly dipped and too little used pen. 
He felt that writing a verb nine times is far 
easier than writing it once, if that once is the 
time when the endings have to be found and 
fitted. He was endeavoring to couch this fact 
in the form of a neat conundrum to spring 
on Miskell some day, when suddenly there 
was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and a 
head was thrust through at the doorway, a 
head crowned with hair that was the color, 
quality, and general arrangement of a bristle 
door-mat. 

Jack’s heart missed a beat, and something 
73 


THE GREEN C 


in the round eyes that he saw now at close 
range reminded him that once before, in the 
days of his unenlightenment, when football 
was an untried mystery, he had addressed this 
individual on the subject of Graham and in 
reference to a baseball. 

“Stocky here?” asked the intruder, genially, 
after having first made reasonably sure that 
he was not, and walked in. Then Jack’s eyes 
beheld the green C on his sweater, and the 
realization of what it stood for in this case 
made him tingle with emotion. 

“Nope,” he said, extra carelessly. 

His visitor swung himself on a desk within 
easy chatting distance. No one would have 
dreamed that he had noted the look in Jack’s 
eye. 

“Stocky,” he observed, airily, “is very 
remiss. When you preach punctuality it 
seems to me you ought to be a shining ex- 
ample of it. I like Stocky well enough, only 
he’s not always polite. He must learn to 
have more consideration. It’s lucky I hap- 
pen to be free this afternoon, or I’d teach him 
a lesson myself. I wouldn’t wait for him.” 

Jack breathed through an opened mouth, 
and did his best to think up a prompt and 
witty reply. 

“Now, it seems to me,” went on the new- 
74 


THE HERO 


comer, not waiting for Jack, “we might figure 
out something between us, even now — ” He 
broke off suddenly. “I presume I am ad- 
dressing one of Stocky's victims?” 

“I — no — er — Mr. Stockton is just our class 
instructor. We don’t really have him in 
anything. He’s Latin three at the lowest.” 

“Oh,” the other formed it roundly and 
finally. His tone, when he spoke again, had 
an added civility that put Jack hopeless miles 
beneath him. “I was under the impression 
that you were a junior.” 

“No,” gulped Jack, scarlet in his shame. 
A silence threatened, and Jack broke it with 
a desperate effort. “You — you’re — Stanton, 
aren’t you?” 

The football god apparently forced him- 
self to look interested. 

“How did you know?” he asked. 

“I — I saw the game with Newton. Gee, 
but you made a dandy run!” 

Stanton had some difficulty trying to look 
annoyed at this enthusiasm. 

“Going in for football?” he asked, care- 
lessly. 

His modesty thrilled Jack to the marrow. 

“I guess so,” he breathed, awed at this 
condescension. 

“Done any playing?” 

75 


THE GREEN C 


“Not to speak of.” Jack had every right 
to blush at this, and he did so. 

“You want to get a little weight on you. 
How heavy are you?” 

Jack dizzily saw himself thrust onto the 
team already. He thought of what Edie had 
said, and for the first time was uncomfort- 
able in the knowledge that he possessed a 
mother. 

“Hundred and eight,” he answered. 

“Put on forty pounds,” advised Stanton, 
easily, “then come round and see me.” 

“How — how much do you weigh?” asked 
Jack, with trembling impertinence. 

“I’m light,” acknowledged Stanton. “We’ve 
got enough like me. What we need is weight 
for our center. We’d stand a chance against 
any college team if we had enough meat.” 

Jack absorbed every word to detail later 
to Miskell, to Cartwright, to Edie — to every- 
body who would listen and who realized what 
it meant that Stanton, Bub Stanton, the cap- 
tain of the Cleveland eleven, was talking foot- 
ball chances with him, little Jack Downing! 

“There’s a lot in that.” He wondered 
whether it were best to agree or to argue. 
“But don’t you think a knowledge of the 
game counts for a good deal, too?” 

‘ ‘ Knowledge of the game !’ ’ Stanton snapped 
76 


THE HERO 


his fingers. “That! Every little freshie on 
the bleachers has a knowledge of the game — 
knows how to score — on the bleachers; knows 
a lot about tackling — bird’s-eye view. Get 
him into a good rush, and let’s see where 
he is. Swept right off his feet like — like a 
chip in a high sea.” 

Jack maliciously thought of all this as di- 
rected against Cartwright. Obviously he, 
himself, was excluded from the general run 
of “f reshies on the bleachers.” Not only 
was he receiving distinction, but it was no less 
a person than Stanton, Bub Stanton, who 
was according it. 

* 1 Ah , Stanton . ’ ’ Stockton wore rubber heels . 

Stanton slipped from his perch gracefully 
and without embarrassment, and, walking up 
to the instructor with the nonchalance of the 
truly great, handed him an official -looking 
paper. 

“All complete this time?” smiled Stockton. 

“This time I hope so, sir.” 

“Excellent. Good afternoon, Stanton.” 

“Good afternoon, sir.” 

Stockton looked at Jack, who returned to 
the gloom of his unfathomable Latin. The 
light Stanton had brought into the room went 
out with him. Jack felt Stockton’s gaze, and 
referred again unprofitably to his grammar. 

6 77 


THE GREEN C 


“Are you spending the week-end here?” 
asked Stockton, at last, suavely. 

“No, sir — it’s for Mr. Hilton, sir — a synop- 
sis.” 

“How unfortunate that you were inter- 
rupted in your work.” Stockton was gath- 
ering together some of the books from his 
desk-top and putting them in order. “Social 
intercourse is so detrimental to one’s mental 
equilibrium.” He pulled a jingling bunch of 
keys from his pocket and inserted one in the 
lock. Then he looked up and fixed Jack with 
his steady gray eyes. “Young man,” he 
said, in a changed tone, “I advise you to quit 
dreaming and commence to plug.” 

/ 


VI 


THE HEDGELEY GAME 

T HERE was to be a game with the high 
school at Hedgeley, a town some dis- 
tance away, the following Saturday, and there 
was practice all week in preparation. Jack, 
who had made great headway in his study of 
athletics, knew enough now to look forward 
anxiously to the event. 

Monday afternoon he spent watching the 
football stars in the big field back of the school. 
He began to know many of the players by 
sight now: Foster, the full-back ; Cow Martin, 
the center, so named because, though redoubt- 
able in build, he lacked grace while running; 
Little Ludwig, the left tackle, a fiery player 
of diminutive proportions; Jansen and Tin 
Pan Cauldwell, the half-backs, the former 
very blond and business-like, the latter the 
idol of the school, who could pound the piano 
with enormous success, and to whom, in the 
capacity of honor student, boys were apt to 
point when assailed by their elders for giving 
79 


THE GREEN C 


too much time to sports. Graham was the 
left end, the shy, quiet Graham Jack found 
so kindly and attractive that he often won- 
dered why this big senior was not more popu- 
lar. Stanton, the captain of the team, was 
quarter-back. Jack felt, as he gazed at him 
with swimming eyes, that none could com- 
pare with Bub Stanton, tall, lank, sinewy, the 
apparent center of every scrimmage, the 
spirit and brains of the team. / 

Jack went home after this glorious after- 
noon dreaming of how, in the game with 
Hedgeley, they would have to call for a sub- 
stitute, and he would respond from among the 
freshies on the bleachers in the face of Cart- 
wright’s derision. The team would refuse to 
let him. play till Bub Stanton would exclaim: 
“Go on! He’s got the right stuff in him. I 
was talking with him about it once.” So, to 
Cartwright’s chagrin, they would take him 
to the dressing-room, arm him with football 
attire, and he would step into the field amid 
cheers. Then the score would rise like the 
mercury in a July thermometer, chased up 
by his efforts; but during the last down he 
would break his leg or sprain his ankle (a 
broken leg might cement some of his mother’s 
prejudices against the game). To conclude, 
as he lay fainting on the ground, the loudly 
80 


THE HEDGELEY GAME 


cheering team would raise him high, and 
Stanton would fling over the inert form his 
own white sweater with the sacred green C. 
Jack controlled his feeling with difficulty. 
It was the best football story he knew. 

The next morning he saw Stanton standing 
on the steps of one of the school entrances 
talking to Tin Pan, and the stout boy who 
had misdirected him that first day, whose 
name he had since learned was Phelps. 

“I’ve put on two pounds,” Jack hazarded, 
boldly, as he purposely passed the group on 
the steps, thereby taking the least con- 
venient entrance. 

“Good,” drawled Stanton. “Keep it up.” 

The two extra staircases and the length 
of a hall were little enough to pay for an 
answer like that before two other seniors. 
He wished Cartwright had been there to hear. 
He lost no time telling him the story, and 
Miskell, too. Even Cartwright, the critical, 
found it interesting. Like all remarks made 
by prominent men, it was witty because a 
celebrity had voiced it. In thinking it over, 
Jack discovered that his own part in this 
repartee had been witty, too. It seemed to 
him as he revolved it in his mind, when he 
should have been attending to the Latin 
on the blackboard, to be very like real col- 

81 


THE GREEN C 

lege conversation, such as he often had read 
in books. 

Fairly sure now that he might expect at 
least a nod of recognition from the school 
hero, Jack took Edie to the scrub game 
Wednesday afternoon chiefly that she might 
behold this lordly salutation. Edie’s ques- 
tions concerning the game were a bit em- 
barrassing to Jack, who feared his answers 
might be overheard. He was forced to reply 
in confidential whispers that annoyed Edie, 
who saw no reason for secrecy. Moreover, 
she picked out Elliott, the best-looking boy, 
on the team, for Stanton, and could not at 
first get up the proper enthusiasm for the 
snub-nosed captain. She preferred Graham, 
whose face seemed to her “stem” and a 
little “sad.” Jack commenced to be sorry 
he had brought her at all. 

But after she had seen the students rise 
and respond to some of Stanton’s spectacular 
plays she caught the fire of their hero-worship 
to a degree at which even Jack was satisfied. 

When it was over, by a series of complicated 
manoeuvers, causing Edie to cross under a 
fence at one end of the field, trot past a group 
of players at the other, then hastily retrace 
her course through some unexpected move 
on their quarry’s part, Jack managed to 
82 


THE HEDGELEY GAME 


bring Edith face to face at last with the 
disheveled hero of the gridiron. 

“This is my sister.” Jack presented her 
apologetically, feeling she looked particularly 
young and dowdy for her thirteen years. 

Stanton grinned courteously, disclosing a 
bloody set of teeth. 

“Like football?” he asked, genially. 

She was so fascinated by the scarlet teeth, 
the result of a bruised gum, that she only 
gulped and nodded. 

“Come out .and play a little,” suggested 
Stanton, with unbelievable democracy. 

The brother and sister doubled up with mirth. 

“I would be scared,” giggled Edith, ner- 
vously. “Does it hurt?” 

“ You're right it does!” Stanton rubbed 
his dingy elbows. “But that’s where the 
fun comes in.” 

“That’s hard for girls to understand, I 
guess,” broke in Jack, who had not intended 
that Edie should monopolize all of the con- 
versation. 

“It will hurt more if I don’t hit it up now 
for home and a rub-down, so I’m off. Good- 
by. Come and see us really play some time.” 
And with a merry yet regal wave of his hand 
he proceeded to “hit it up” without stint of 
energy. 


83 


THE GREEN C 


“Gee,” breathed Jack, “I’d love to be him!” 

“Has he got any sisters?” asked Edie. 
Her loyalty to Jack would not permit her to 
wish to be Stanton’s sister more openly. 

They talked it over together continuously. 
Jack found Edie a better listener, and Edie 
found it not only easier but pleasant to de- 
vote time to the discussion of football now. 
Because of Stanton’s special invitation, Jack 
promised to save up and put fifteen cents 
toward taking Edie to the Thanksgiving 
game, that with Hedgeley being financially 
impossible. 

“After all,” Edie had declared, to account 
for her desire to see what she had so often 
denounced as a brutal pastime, “you never 
told me about there being so many rules 
against injuring each other; and I suppose if 
you really are careful you don’t need to get 
hurt at all?” 

“You can’t be very careful if you want to 
play decently.” Jack defended the manly 
cruelty of it. “Look what happened to 
Bub’s teeth!” 

“Oo-o! Didn’t they look awful? I guess 
he’s nice-looking when he’s fixed up properly. 
He has lovely eyes. You couldn’t tell, he 
was so dirty and messed up. Still, I like a 
strong face.” 


84 


THE HEDGELEY GAME 


“He’s strong-looking, all right.” Jack rev- 
eled in her sympathetic praise. 

“Graham is strong-looking, too, don’t you 
think, in a quieter sort of way?” suggested 
Edie. 

“Yes, Graham’s nice; but sometimes he’s 
grouchy, they say.” 

“Grouchy” was not the romantic epithet 
that Edith would have applied to Graham’s 
attractive gravity. 

“Graham?” repeated Emily. They were 
all seated in the library after supper. “Is 
that the Graham on Montague Street?” 

“I guess so,” answered Jack, carelessly. 
As though it mattered where Graham lived. 

“That’s Mrs. Henry Graham’s son,” Emily 
explained to her mother. “Mr. and Mrs. 
Graham are going away for a few weeks — to 
New York, I think. The Parkers told me. 
They’ll be gone over Thanksgiving.” 

Uninteresting as this bit of gossip seemed 
to Jack at the time, he was to recall it later 
very vividly. 

At the Hedgeley game on Saturday, Jack 
had cause to marvel at the amount of knowl- 
edge he had acquired since he had last watched 
the battle for the pigskin on that field of 
glory. Still, he would have been very much 
at sea in many cases if it had not been for 

85 


THE GREEN C 


the excited comments of a little group of 
juniors who sat in front of him and did not 
seem to miss a single play. 

Hedgeley kicked off, and Elliott, Cleveland's 
right tackle, caught the ball on the twenty- 
yard line, but was downed in his tracks. 
They lined up quickly, and Cow Martin passed 
the ball to Foster, back on the ten-yard line, 
for a kick. In his excitement the center 
passed too high, and while Foster was pulling 
down the ball and getting it off the Hedgeley 
tackle broke through and blocked the kick. 
The ball rolled back to Cleveland’s two-yard 
line, where Hedgeley’s captain promptly fol- 
lowed and dropped on it, while Hedgeley’s 
sympathizers rose and howled with joy. The 
juniors in front of Jack groaned. 

“Here’s where they buck right through the 
center,” prophesied one, gloomily, voicing the 
general belief; and every one was surprised 
when the Hedgeley right half-back made a 
rush to get around Cleveland’s left end. 
Graham wasted no time, but, diving in head 
first, not only broke the interference, but 
landed his man. First down, with still two 
yards to go. The Cleveland cheer broke out 
sharply, almost raspingly, at an increased 
tempo, for the students were too interested 
in the game, and got it over as quickly as 
86 


THE HEDGELEY GAME 


possible. There was a feeling of strained 
attention throughout the crowds that did 
not encourage yelling. 

On the second play Hedgeley’s half-back 
shot like a rocket into the Cleveland line, 
which bore up like a stone wall. Every 
player on both teams was involved in the 
scrimmage. Jack saw the lines rock forward 
and back for what seemed an incredible 
length of time. When the referee disentangled 
the mass the ball was discovered to be one 
yard nearer the Cleveland goal. Voices broke 
loose. The Hedgeley yell was all but drowned 
by the desperate cries of the Clevelanders. 

“Hold ’em, Cleveland! Hold ’em! Hold 
’em! Hold ’em!’’ 

The biggest man on the Hedgeley team, the 
full-back, now started with the ball, charging 
between Cow Martin and his right guard, 
Fogarty. Tin Pan Cauldwell saw the play 
coming, and with all his force flung himself 
under it. There was no shouting now. The 
crowds waited in breathless silence as the 
referee seemed to toss aside the prostrate 
bodies and uncovered the ball. His voice, 
calm, impersonal, deeply penetrating, sent 
strange shivers down Jack’s spine. 

“Cleveland’s ball!’’ As he spoke he stood 
within a foot of Cleveland’s goal. The roar- 
87 


THE GREEN C 


in g of the spectators, after that thrilling pause, 
sounded like the sudden rattle of a thunder- 
shower on a tin roof. 

Foster dropped back for a kick. The 
juniors in front of Jack set up a shriek of 
amazement when the ball was passed, instead, 
to Cauldwell, who started for Hedgeley’s 
left end. Hedgeley’s defense switched to 
meet it as one man; but in passing Jansen, 
Cauldwell tossed him the ball. It was an old 
trick, but in this amazing crisis it worked. 
Jansen was making good headway down the 
field while Hedgeley still stood massed to 
receive Cauldwell. Hedgeley’s full-back was 
the first to recover, and, catching up with 
Jansen, tackled him from behind and downed 
him just over the border of Hedgeley’s terri- 
tory. Cleveland’s prospects began to look 
brighter. On the next line-up Stanton took 
the ball through a broken field for a run of 
twenty-five yards, to Hedgeley’s thirty-yard 
line. Another first down, with the Cleveland 
sympathizers screaming encouragement. The 
next attempt, however, was thrown back 
without gain. 

It was now the second down with ten yards 
to go. The Cleveland formation foreshad- 
owed an on-side kick or a forward pass. Again 
the spectators were to be astonished by what 
88 


THE HEDGELEY GAME 


followed. Stanton dropped back, and, before 
the Hedgeley forwards could charge, the ball 
was sailing gaily over the Hedgeley goal-posts ! 

The rest of the first half proceeded tamely 
enough in comparison. Cleveland played 
safe, and Hedgeley tried again and again in 
vain to gain any advantage. When the 
whistle blew the score stood three to nothing, 
and the jubilant juniors in front of Jack con- 
verted themselves into a chorus for the prais- 
ing of the captain of their team. 

But Hedgeley had a surprise up her sleeve. 
Her team trotted out upon the field grim 
with determination, and opened the second 
half by breaking down the confident Cleve- 
land’s defense and finally sending her quarter- 
back around the end to score a touch-down. 
The goal that went with it set the Hedgeley 
rooters crowing, and in the racket that fol- 
lowed Jack dimly heard the defiant answer 
of his own high-school yell. 

From that moment the game became a 
matter for mothers to groan over. Hedgeley, 
elated with her brilliant start, felt she had 
rattled Cleveland, and unremittingly con- 
tinued her attack, with the result that all the 
play was in the home territory; and Cleve- 
land’s only chance to cheer was to encourage, 
or in delight that they held their adversaries 
89 


THE GREEN C 

back. Once, near the end of the game, on 
second down, Jack saw the Hedgeley end 
tackled near the Cleveland goal by a heavy 
figure from the home eleven, who was dragged 
several feet along the hard ground in the 
process. This figure continued to lie prone 
throughout the cheering that followed. 

" That's Graham,” declared one of Jack's 
juniors. "He let himself go that time! Say, 
he went down like an old potato-sack!” 

"I guess he’s done for himself,” said an- 
other, critically. "He looks to be down and 
out for sure.” 

They had helped Graham to his feet, and 
he was parading up and down in a gingerly 
fashion, supported by Cow Martin and Elliott. 

Suddenly he broke away from them, 
stretched his arms, shook his shoulders, 
kicked once or twice, and with scarcely a 
limp took his place in the line-up amid the 
applause that makes such recoveries possible. 

There was only five minutes to play now, 
with the score six to three. Jack watched 
closely, but without much hope. He was with 
the crowd murmuring, "Forward pass!” as 
the ball landed cleanly in the hands of the 
big Cleveland left-end. He saw the block- 
ing, and then suddenly his heart leaped at 
the appearance of a lone, bent figure emerg- 
90 


THE HEDGELEY GAME 


in g from the confusion, heading straight for 
the Hedgeley goal. 

“ Graham!” roared the crowds. 

Yea, Graham ! ’ ’ shrieked the j uniors. ‘ 1 Go 
it, boy! Hit it up! Go it!” 

For an instant the Hedgeley s were dazed. 
The first to recover were kept off by the in- 
terference, which had formed quickly around 
the runner. There was a clear field for a 
touch-down, but seventy-five yards to go. 
The juniors waved their arms and counted 
wildly as Graham crossed the center line and 
flew down the white-striped field. 

1 1 Fifty ! Oh you Graham ! Forty ! Thirty ! 
Go on! Eat 'em up! Yea — a! Thirty! 
Keep it up! Goon! Wow!” 

Jack stood tense and still in all that surging 
noise. His eyes were fixed on Graham en 
route for victory. It was so exultingly sure! 
The end of the game was too close to permit 
Hedgeley to recover from this touch-down. 
His throat swelled uncomfortably. 

The juniors hugged each other hysterically, 
and one with a most penetrating voice tried 
to coach Graham above the racket. 

“ Twenty — oh! Hit it up, old sock! Ten! 
Make it! Make it! Go on!” 

Graham was flagging! The former fall was 
telling on him in this long run, and he was 
91 


THE GREEN C 


limping visibly. The field closing in after, 
was almost upon him. Jack saw two of the 
Hedgeley men bearing down hard. 

“Fool ’em!" screamed the juniors, brokenly. 
“Fool ’em! Go on!” 

The Hedgeley men fell upon Graham at 
the five-yard line. A peculiar hush came over 
the spectators as the referee trotted up. It 
was as if each individual felt that something 
was amiss. The juniors were rigid and pale, 
with their eyes fixed; Jack himself felt a 
strange chill pass over him. Then the in- 
credible happened. 

“Hedgeley’s ball!” sounded the clear, cold 
voice of the referee. 

“Hedgeley’s!” the word swept over the 
crowds in a roar of amazement that swelled 
into the thundering yell. 

“He means Cleveland’s,” Jack found him- 
self repeating aloud. 

One of the juniors in front was rocking to 
and fro in his seat pounding his open palm. 

“He fumbled!” he almost sobbed. “He 
fumbled! Oh, great, bellowing cats! He 
fumbled — now! ” 

The others stood silent, still watching rather 
blankly. 

Jack leaned forward in sudden terror. 
Something had happened to Graham. He 

92 


THE HEDGELEY GAME 


had exhausted himself; he had broken down 
on the point of victory. Dazedly he saw 
Graham rise and join his line-up. The smart- 
ing tears rushed to Jack's eyes, and he felt 
sick. Surely there was some mistake. The 
referee had muddled things in his excitement. 
He was overwhelmed with a desire to protest. 
Clearly some one ought to protest! 

The ball had risen, soared irregularly, and 
fell. A whistle blew, and the game was over. 

The Cleveland team drew close and cheered 
the victors, then scattered to their sweaters. 
Two figures remained after the others left. 

“Say,” said one of the juniors, motioning 
to these, his voice hoarse. “Stanton is some 
wrathy! I'd hate to be Graham just now.” 

“Who can blame him?” almost wept he 
who had been most audible in the late up- 
roar. “What happened, anyway? Am I 
blind or just crazy? Was he even tackled? 
But he fumbled, all right; he fumbled on the 
five-yard line! If he’d only held on another 
minute! Oh, it's fierce!” 

“The ball was slippery,” sneered the third. 
“I saw the feller that greased it.” 

“If you want to know the whole unvar- 
nished truth,” declared the second, “I’ll tell 
you. He — just — quit . ' ' 

“Graham?” the first protested. “Why, 
93 


7 


THE GREEN C 


look at the way he got up when he'd been 
stepped on just before, with Crawford." 

“Yes, but perhaps you didn't notice that 
he fussed about himself then, too,” con- 
ceded the third. 

“Aw, go on! You get some one to pull 
you round the field after him as if you were 
a little train of cars, and then step on your 
ear, and let's see how quick you are to get 
up and get to work again,” exclaimed Gra- 
ham’s defender. 

“Say, what do they think they're playing 
football for? To learn manners or dancing?” 
demanded the third. 

“Don't tell me anything about Graham!” 
grunted the second. 

“I'm not so stuck on him myself, person- 
ally. He's a snob. But I don't believe — oh, 
it’s a funny business all around. I sure 
don't know what to think. There wasn't a 
reason on earth why he should have fumbled 
there.” 

“There was a mighty good reason for it,” 
said the second, with bitter emphasis. “It's 
the reason why you can't find any one who 
really likes Walt Graham — except Bub Stan- 
ton; but he likes everybody. It's simply 
this, and what I say was proved to-day — 
Graham has a yellow streak.” 


VII 


THE YELLOW STREAK 

J ACK was almost sorry that he had seen 
his second game. Football had stood 
for courage and chivalry until now; but, 
though the pain in connection with defeat 
seemed natural and bearable, cowardice was 
something he had not thought of before, and 
could not recall now without a sickening sense 
of shame. He could not believe that any 
one so near to victory would have forgotten 
all in the pettiness of fear. Above all, he 
could not connect such conduct with Graham, 
as he knew him, and, in spite of realizing that 
the attitude of the juniors he had overheard 
had become the attitude of the school, he was 
unable to bring himself into sympathy with 
it. Apart from everything else, there seemed 
to him to be something ignoble in this sud- 
den turning against one who had been so 
nearly a hero. 

For a while Jack lost his taste for football, 
and wondered if he even cared to see that 
95 


THE GREEN C 


great Thanksgiving-day event, the Danbury 
game. As the days went on, however, some of 
his bitterness died away in the increasing 
excitement over it, for it was the last and 
biggest game of the season. 

One rainy afternoon Jack had a last period 
vacant, and he chose to spend it in the gym- 
nasium, under pretense of practice on the 
parallel bars, his eyes fixed most attentively 
on the group around the tackling-dummy, 
especially upon one grimy individual with 
rebellious hair, who was directing his asso- 
ciates to “hit it up” and “get some oat- 
meal into it.” 

After the bell had sounded the end of the 
day's sessions, Jack was changing his shoes 
in the locker-room when he was almost 
stepped on by the brawny Graham. The 
big football-player merely muttered a half- 
heard apology, and proceeded to separate 
himself from his jersey in silence. Jack felt 
his throat tighten in the other’s presence. 
He wanted to say something, but his mind 
was blank; and while he was wondering how 
he might most tactfully refer to the blunder 
in Saturday’s game his good angel sent in 
Bub Stanton to interrupt him. Jack in- 
stantly proceeded to radiate adoration; but 
Stanton was too busy to notice that there was 
96 


THE YELLOW STREAK 


any one in the room but Graham, on whom 
he opened fire immediately. 

“See here, Walt, what’s eating you, any- 
way?” he demanded, inelegantly. 

“ Nothing,” answered Graham, sullenly. 

'‘Don’t you give me credit for having eyes? 
Well, I can see with them, too. Just how bad 
did you get soaked in the game on Satur- 
day?” 

“Not at all.” 

"You’re sure nothing’s broken or sprained? 
You landed on Crawford like a cyclone. How 
about your ribs?” 

"All right.” 

"And your fingers?” 

Graham wriggled them to prove they were 
unhurt. Stanton rubbed the back of his 
head with a puzzled gesture, and looked 
Graham up and down long and thoughtfully. 

"Well,” was his final sum-up, "you may 
be all there, but you act like a prancing 
funeral. I was trying to find an excuse for 
your bad manners. How about laying off 
for a couple of days?” 

"Don’t want to. I feel all right,” growled 
Graham, impatiently, his face hidden, as he 
laced up his shoes. 

"You disguise your feelings wonderfully,” 
said Stanton, in mock admiration. "Do you 
97 


THE GREEN C 

know what your tackling to-day reminded 
me of?” 

“No” 

“My great-grandmother’s stiff,” was the 
disrespectful reply. 

“Oh, what’s the use of getting excited over 
a dummy?” broke out Graham. 

“Humph! that’s not the way you talk 
when you’re feeling well,” grunted Stanton, 
wisely. 

“I’m all right, I tell you. You needn’t 
worry about me at all.” 

“It’s not you,” said Stanton, with a sud- 
den serious sharpness. “It’s the team.” 

Graham stood up, stark still, facing Stan- 
ton, his back to the light. 

“Want me to get off?” he asked, quietly, 
in a harsh voice. 

“Aw, cut out the ‘ Sir-I’m-a-lady ’ busi- 
ness.” Stanton shook himself impatiently. 
“You’re one of our big men, and we need 
you. You know that well enough. And 
you can put it over all of them when you 
want to play. The way you tackled Craw- 
ford was well worth watching. And you 
made sixty-three good solid yards down the 
field yesterday, if you’d only — ” He broke 
off in confusion, to cover which he continued 
more vehemently. “But you’re no good to 
98 


THE YELLOW STREAK 


any one if you're going to trip over your own 
shadow and tackle as if you were scared of 
mussing your hair." 

An uncomfortable silence followed. Gra- 
ham continued dressing, while Stanton stood 
kicking at the floor and frowning. Jack 
wished himself elsewhere, and made knots 
in his shoe-laces in his haste to get away. 

“Do you know what they are all saying 
about you?" began Stanton again, looking 
straight at Graham. 

“I don't care." Graham's voice was low. 

“They're beginning to call you — Little 
Fumbler." 

It was a cruel shot, and went home, as 
Graham showed in spite of himself. Jack 
felt, rather than saw, the spasmodic straight- 
ening of the big body. His own heart seemed 
to burst against his ribs, and his hands be- 
came cold and useless. In the pause that 
followed he felt that Stanton was suffering, 
too. 

“By heaven," said Graham, in a tense 
voice, at last, “I'll fight the first that — " 

“Aw, rats!" Stanton interrupted. “You’d 
have to begin on ten before you left the gym 
at all. You know that's not the way to shut 
them up. There's only one thing for you 
to do." 


99 


THE GREEN C 


“Do you believe — ” Graham’s voice grew 
hoarse and broke. 

“Do you suppose I’d be around here argu- 
ing with you and begging you to show them 
what sort of fat-heads they are if I did?” 

Graham did not answer. 

“I just thought — ” Stanton shifted, and 
his voice sounded a bit strained. “I just 
thought perhaps there was something wrong.” 

“Well, there isn’t.” 

Neither spoke, and Stanton made prepara- 
tions to change his clothes. Jack was ready 
at last and crossed to the door, hoping he 
would not be observed. He did not know 
whether to feel flattered or disturbed when 
Stanton nodded to him curtly in answer to 
the “Hullo!” he had to utter when he caught 
the captain’s eye. On the threshold the mad 
desire to say something to Graham seized 
him again. He hesitated and went through 
the unusual operation of arranging his hair 
at the little mirror near the door. 

“Want to come home with me to-night, 
Bub?” asked Graham, lifelessly. 

“What’s the matter? Folks gone already?” 

“Yes, I’ve got the whole place to myself. 
Will you come?” 

“ Can’t, to-night. Where’s your uncle? I 
thought he was going to stay with you.” 

ioo 


THE YELLOW STREAK 


“He went and got typhoid or something,” 
answered Graham, with large indefiniteness. 

“Too bad. I don’t envy you. It must 
be kind of lonesome.” Stanton’s manner 
warmed many degrees, and he looked at 
Graham with pity, at which Graham instant- 
ly froze again. 

“I like it,” he said, hastily. 

Jack, finding nothing to say, gave it up 
and left them. 

The Monday of Thanksgiving week was a 
gloomy day drenched in rain. Jack went to 
the gym locker-room to look for his Greek 
history, which he remembered to have left 
there the Thursday before, his last Greek- 
history day. Though, for reasons it is not 
fair to Jack to mention, it was considerably 
past closing hour, Jack distinctly heard the 
creak and jar of the tackling dummy in the 
gym, and he looked in curiously. 

A single player was practising, and the 
great, empty room made him look so small 
that Jack did not recognize him as he rushed 
forward, flung himself on the swaying figure, 
and dropped with a thud on the padded mat. 
Then a choking sensation arose in Jack’s 
throat, and an inexplicable smarting attacked 
his eyes at the lonesomeness of big Graham 
in that shadowy room. 

IOI 


THE GREEN C 


These feelings vanished in boyish awe when 
Graham walked toward him for another rush, 
and Jack beheld a streak of thick red blood 
that streamed from a cut over the other's 
dusty temple and zigzagged down his cheek. 

“Gee!" exclaimed Jack, admiringly and 
without preface. “You’re bleeding!" 

Graham, panting a little, raised a grimy 
hand to the wound. 

“I butted into the stanchion," he explained. 
“I slipped." 

“Here, don’t touch it with your fingers," 
cried Jack, eagerly, holding out a dingy hand- 
kerchief. “Use this. You’ll get ptomaine 
poisoning if you get dirt in it." 

“Thanks." Graham accepted the precau- 
tionary measures offered, and could not sup- 
press a tight little smile of pride at the red 
he mopped up. “I must have looked like 
a pirate." 

“Does it hurt?" asked Jack, with interest. 

“Naw — only for a minute or two." 

“Gee! It takes nerve," declared Jack, 
after a slight pause. Graham’s gray eyes 
looked at him sharply unddr the dun-colored 
folds of the borrowed handkerchief. 

“What does?" 

“Football. I was just thinking" — Jack 
went on to explain the silence that had pre- 
102 



“gee!” exclaimed jack, admiringly, “you’re bleeding!” 






THE YELLOW STREAK 


ceded his last remark — ‘Tackling is bad enough, 
but being tackled — ” 

Graham bit his lip and examined the blood 
on the handkerchief. 

“It's all in the game/’ he said, dispassion- 
ately. 

“I’ve often wondered what it felt like to be 
running along with the ball under your arm, 
knowing that everybody was trying his darn- 
dest to bowl you over and get it away.” 
Jack’s eyes sparkled. “It must be kind of 
thrilling. But don’t you lose your head?” 

Another keen look from Graham. 

“You’d better not,” he said, dryly. 

“I’d feel like chucking the ball as far from 
me as it would go and let them chase it an’ 
leave me alone,” Jack giggled, excitedly. 

“You wouldn’t.” Graham handed back 
the handkerchief, and sat on the edge of the 
padded mat, clasping his dusty hands about 
his knees. Jack pocketed the handkerchief 
and took the liberty of sitting beside him. 

“I s’pose,” speculated Jack, “the knowledge 
that Bub Stanton and all the rest of ’em are 
looking for the best in you sort of keeps 
you up.” Graham nodded. “Funny how 
that holds you all the time.” 

Graham shifted a little. 

“Sometimes,” he said, haltingly. “Some- 
103 


THE GREEN C 


times, when you’ve been soaked over the 
head once, you’re sort of shy about getting 
another dose. That’s the only thing.” 

The gym was growing dark in the fading 
of the November light. The radiators along 
the walls began to “knock” a little discon- 
solately, and the air chilled. Jack looked 
from the heavily veined powerful hands on 
the other’s knee to the muscular arm under 
the soiled white and green jersey, and sud- 
denly he realized that he was sitting close to 
an individual, that this great body so near 
to him on the mat was the body of Graham — 
Walt Graham. A little shiver slid down his 
spine at the thought of what he had been 
saying; it was almost with fear that he looked 
toward Graham’s face, then he turned away 
quickly with blazing cheeks, for Graham had 
been looking down at him with eyes that held 
the piercing longing of dumb creatures and 
lonely men. In the lengthening pause that 
followed there returned the old overwhelming 
desire to say something, as it had come to him 
in the locker-room that day, but again he felt 
helplessly tongue-tied, with nothing more rele- 
vant than blazing rockets and stars crowding 
his mind. 

“Say,” he burst out at last, in desperation, 
“I’d be mighty proud to be you.” 

104 


THE YELLOW STREAK 


“Me!” Graham flushed vividly. 

“You mean so much to the school. Look 
what you are to the team!” 

Had Graham arisen and soared about the 
gym, he could not have surprised Jack more, 
for at this he leaned forward suddenly with 
his head in his hands and commenced to sob 
or laugh. Jack felt his hair tingle with emo- 
tion. 

“What’s the matter; are you crying?” he 
demanded, alarmed. 

Graham threw back his head and showed 
it was a laugh, and Jack in his inexperience 
was reassured. 

“If you knew everything that I know and 
were trying to rub it in,” began Graham, 
steadying his voice, “you couldn’t have hit 
any harder.” 

Jack stared; and Graham looked back, 
steadily crushing his hands together, as if 
under a tremendous nervous strain. 

“What made you say all that?” he exploded, 
finally. 

“I don’t know,” answered Jack, with entire 
truth. 

“Look at here,” said Graham, after another 
silence, never taking his eyes from Jack’s 
face. “I’ll show you something.” He fum- 
bled for a moment at his belt and produced 
105 


THE GREEN C 


a crumpled envelope which he opened, 
spreading out the note within. “This is 
from my mother; they are away — traveling.’ * 
He searched among the written words, and 
then read: “ ‘After hearing of these accidents’ 
— she mentioned some in the big college 
games, like Lawton getting his leg broke up at 
Yale last week — ‘you see I could not have an 
instant’s peace till my boy gives up playing. 
I am so sure — so sure of your — love — that I 
know you will do this for me just as soon as I 
ask it, and I need no pledge nor answer. I 
never have asked you to give up anything 
for me before, and as I write this I know that 
you will remember that and, much as the 
game may mean to you, and my dear . . . 
and do not think I miscalculate its impor- 
tance to my brave ... to my . . . still I am 
sure that — that — that you — love me more 
. . . and that you’ll give it — give it up right 
away an’ — an’ . . . grant — memy . . . peace 
o’ mind — mind — even — as — I — I ask . . . 
for it . . .’” Toward the end of this read- 
ing Graham’s voice was very hoarse. He 
stumbled over many of the phrases in the 
increasing dusk. Jack sat watching with eyes 
wide and lips parted, which brought back 
all the babyhood, so lately vanished from his 
face. 

to6 


THE YELLOW STREAK 


“When did this come?” Jack spoke in 
an unexpected whisper. 

“Last week.” 

“And you went right on practising?” Jack 
murmured, more to himself. 

“Yes.” 

“Did you tell her that?” 

“No ; I haven’t written about that. She — ” 
Graham spoke with difficulty. “She didn’t 
want any promise.” 

“You’re going to play, anyway?” Jack’s 
cheek burned. 

“Say,” Graham laughed, harshly, “don’t 
you really know what the fellers are saying 
about the Hedgeley game?” 

Jack heard his heart thumping, and it took 
all his courage to speak. “You ought to 
mind her .” He sat in agony under Graham’s 
queer, sustained smile. 

“It’s three days to the game,” said Gra- 
ham. 

“What made you wait so long? If you 
got the letter last week — ” Jack’s anger 
surprised himself. In that semi-dark, under 
stress, he spoke as if Graham were his equal. 
He had to think over his impertinence and 
lose his wrath in wonder before Graham 
answered, his head averted now, his clenched 
hands under his chin. 

107 


THE GREEN C 


“I’m a liar now,” he said, slowly. “I’m 
not really thinking about the team. There 
are lots of good subs. I was thinking about 
myself.” 

Jack adjusted facts in his clear young 
head. 

"It’s that you’re scared of what they’ll 
say,” he declared, bluntly. Graham stirred 
impatiently, now bowing his forehead on his 
hands. “They might say you’d faked up 
that letter with your mother. Oh, that’s 
beastly!” He shook his head hopelessly. 
“But then if you do play it’s only because 
you’re scared not to, and it wouldn’t be 
square to your mother. It’s sort of — coward- 
ly to be afraid of what they’ll say.” He 
rumpled his hair perplexedly. “Maybe you 
could let her know — no, I guess that wouldn’t 
do. After all, it’s only their talk. Say, look! 
If they don’t understand, and think you’re 
a coward when you ain’t, why — ” Jack’s 
eyes lightened with memories of Mr. Car- 
rington’s definition of a good sport. “Gee, 
you’d be a sort of a hero! Say — oh, whee! 
— you’d be — just great!” 

Graham dropped his hands from his face 
and turned upon Jack. 

“Did you see the Hedgeley game?” he de- 
manded, fiercely. 

108 


THE YELLOW STREAK 


“Yes,” answered Jack. 

Graham eyed him for some moments, his 
mouth working nervously. 

“You saw what happened?” 

“It — it was an accident!” protested Jack, 
cold with fear. 

“No.” Graham’s chest heaved, and his 
voice was full of queer little inflections, re- 
minding Jack of a trolley-wire on a frosty 
night. “It was not. Everything they say 
about me — is true.” Jack drew back horror- 
stricken, and Graham went on jerkily. “I 
— lost my nerve. There was a streak of yel- 
low in me — and I never knew it. Then I 
got scared blue over the Thanksgiving game. 
I wished and wished that — something would 
happen to keep me off the team. I wanted 
to quit. I — I prayed I’d get sick. Then I 
got this letter.” 

Jack’s head was swimming. 

“You mean you were glad when you got 
that letter?” 

“I don’t know. Yes — I was, till I saw what 
was the matter with me. It wasn’t this” — 
Graham motioned to the blood on his temple 
— “you could hit me your hardest — you could 
break my arm for me right now — gee, I wish 
you would! I wish that something would 
happen to show how little I care about that. 

8 I0 9 


THE GREEN C 


It ain’t pain. It’s being— being dead scared 
of the yellow streak. I couldn’t stand think- 
ing it might come again in the Danbury 
game. Then came the letter, and I could 
get out of it easy — so easy.” He gave vent 
to a bitter, sobbing laugh. “Well, I can’t 
live this way. I’ve got to show myself it 
won’t happen again. It’s to get right with 
myself. I’ve got to play that game.” 

“But what about the letter?” almost whis- 
pered Jack. 

Graham rose, and his face was lost in the 
deep-blue shadows. 

“That letter,” he said, steadily, “is going 
to get lost in the mail.” 

Jack was a little late getting to school 
the next morning. Cartwright greeted him 
as he slammed his books hastily into his 
desk. 

“So your friend Graham has resigned from 
the team, I see.” 

“Resigned?” repeated Jack, electrified. 
“What do you mean?” 

“Resigned this morning. There’s a big 
hollering going on about it. Bub Stanton’s 
ready to die, and the game with Danbury 
will probably go up the flue.” 

“When did you hear this?” 

no 


THE YELLOW STREAK 


"This morning. He got a letter from his 
marmer, Graham did, telling her baby boy 
to quit. He didn’t show the letter to anybody 
— oh no! it was private! But he got it.” 
Cartwright’s contempt was venomous. "Well, 
I guess she was rooting for Cleveland, all 
right, when she made him resign.” 

After school Jack, mustering up all his 
courage, called on Graham in the lonely 
house in Montague Street. 

"You left this in the gym yesterday. I 
thought you might need it,” said Jack. 

Graham looked from the dilapidated belt 
to Jack’s flushed face. 

"I guess you know that isn’t mine,” he 
answered. 

"Doesn’t even Bub Stanton understand?” 
Jack wasted no more words now. "Haven’t 
you shown him the letter?” 

"No,” Graham smiled. 

"But that’s not fair to him!” exclaimed 
J ack. "You have a right — ’ ’ 

"Yes; but there’s no letter to show,” said 
Graham, gently. 

"No letter!” Jack’s head whirled. 

"Nope. It got lost last night in the mail.” 

* ‘ Y ou — you — ’ ’ Speech failed J ack. 

“I burned it,” answered Graham; and Jack 
beheld a new steadiness in his eyes that made 


hi 


THE GREEN C 


his whole white face older, the face of a man. 
“As soon as it was ashes I saw the whole 
truth. That was the yellow streak in me 
coming out again, see?” 

“No — what do you mean?” 

“Burning the letter was the same old panic 
come back. It was plain up and down lying 
because I was scared to face the music. It 
was quitting — again.” 

Jack was silent for some time, thinking hard. 

“Haven’t you anything, though, to show 
them that — well, that you have an excuse 
for not playing?” 

“That’s the funny part. The coward in 
me went and destroyed the excuse. I sup- 
pose we always make things harder for our- 
selves by trying to worm out of doing the 
right thing at the start. And yet,” he added, 
in a strange voice, “I’m kind of glad it’s going 
to be so hard.” 

“Oh, but if you could only shut them up 
somehow!” 

“I don’t think I ever cared so much about 
that part of it all. It was something in here 
I minded most.” He touched his breast, and 
even in his youthfulness Jack read and per- 
haps instinctively half understood the peace 
in Graham’s grave eyes as he added, gently, 
“And that’s quiet now.” 


VIII 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GOD 

T HE Thanksgiving game with Danbury 
gained even more attention because of 
the sensational resignation of big Graham at 
the last moment. Those who had forgotten 
the scandal of Hedgeley raked it up again. 
Nothing else was discussed within the high- 
school grounds, and the students divided them- 
selves into two factions, those who, like Cart- 
wright, could find no excuse for Graham and 
hated him for his apparent disloyalty, and 
those, painfully few, who remembered what 
he had done in the past and stanchly upheld 
him in spite of all. 

Jack, of course, was the warmest and most 
devoted of his defenders. He alone had seen 
the mysterious letter, and, though most of the 
students doubted its existence, he gained a 
certain fame thereby. 

“ Aw, the kid’s dreaming,” was the favorite 
theory with which they would meet his most 
spirited accounts of that afternoon in the gym. 
1 13 


THE GREEN C 


It became a standing joke, as the cruelty of 
boys is inexplicable. For a while it was a 
common thing to greet members of the team 
at practice with the query: "Has your ma 
sent you a letter yet, telling you to quit?” 

Once Jack heard some one try this form of 
wit in the hearing of Bub Stanton. He saw 
Stanton's good-humored face grow suddenly 
scarlet and drawn with fury. He walked up 
close to the student who had made the sar- 
castic inquiry, and, doubling up his none too 
cleanly fist, he put a stop to this pleasantry 
for good and ah. 

"Say, if you haven't the decency to keep 
your head shut when a man's down I’ll give 
you a lesson. Cut out that funny business, 
and just remember that if you had half or one- 
quarter the grit Graham has packed away in 
his little finger you’d have something to boast 
of. Remember that, and think what a sneak- 
ing little coward you are to go talking about 
him as you do!” 

Jack almost wept in his pride of Stanton 
after this. He told Edith, and they wor- 
shiped the school captain all through dinner 
one night till their family was driven into a 
state of frenzy. 

Graham himself walked among his fellow- 
students quieter and lonelier than ever. 

114 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GOD 


Save for Bub Stanton he was scarcely seen 
with any one. But what cut Jack to his 
tender heart was the realization that Graham, 
of his own accord, had discarded the white 
sweater with its big green C, that he had once 
so loved to wear. 

True to his promise, Jack hoarded up his 
money and was able to take Edith with him 
to the Thanksgiving game. As they sat 
there trying to identify their friends in the 
crowds that surrounded and went past them, 
they suddenly beheld Graham sitting some 
distance away, apparently all alone. 

"I think it's awful,” Edie declared. “ Some- 
one ought to make the boys see how splendid 
he is. I think Doctor Hall ought to say 
something about it.” 

“He seems to like being alone,” Jack was 
forced to admit. “I've seen fellers go up and 
try to be nice to him, and he just backs away 
from it all. They don't try twice, because he 
never was much of a favorite, anyway. Half 
the boys only liked him because he had a C 
and was a friend of Bub Stanton's.” 

They forgot all about Graham when the 
game started. Danbury was worthy of her 
foe, and Jack's growing knowledge of foot- 
ball became miraculous in the light of Edie’s 
admiration. 

115 


THE GREEN C 


As the game went on, Jack became aware 
of an overwhelming desire to belong to it, 
to share some of the glory of that grim and 
battered eleven, that he, too, might become 
famous and beloved like Stanton. He dreamed 
again the dream that they might run out of 
substitutes and call for a volunteer from 
among the spectators. He had no doubt as to 
who that volunteer would be. He felt strong 
enough to have accomplished marvels down 
there in the field under the captaincy of Bub 
Stanton and in the eyes of that roaring, 
swaying multitude. 

It was Stanton, with his two sensational 
touch-downs, who won the game for Cleve- 
land. Everybody conceded that. The Dan- 
bury team themselves gave an extra cheer for 
him at the close of the game, a bit of gallantry 
that thrilled Edie to the marrow. 

Stanton’s name seemed to be on every one’s 
tongue. His two touch-downs were the sole 
topic of conversation with everybody they met 
in the street, save an old lady who was buy- 
ing vegetables from a mercenary fruiterer, and 
two soul-sodden men, talking belated politics 
with a barber in the doorway of his shop. 

Edie and Jack so effectually cornered the 
conversation at the table that night, and gave 
each other such spirited accounts of the plays 
116 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GOD 


one had missed or both had seen, that the 
other members of the family, who had not 
been there, were rather startled. 

'‘It may be all very well,” said Mrs. Down- 
ing, in a tone implying that in truth this 
would surprise her, “but it sounds to me like 
a very rough game.” 

“It is!” declared Emily, quickly. 

“Not really,” contradicted Jack. 

“That’s just the fun,” interposed the per- 
verted Edie. 

“The new rules are terribly strict,” added 
Jack, finishing off the chorus of replies. 

“That’s the least.” Jack’s father looked up 
severely over his spectacles. “There is too 
much made of all this nonsense; that’s what 
I object to. How can these boys attend prop- 
erly to their lessons?” 

“Tin Pan Cauldwell is an honor student, 
and he’s the half-back,” said Jack, eagerly. 
“They must have decent marks, and Bub 
Stanton — ” 

“I can imagine their poor parents,” said 
Emily, sighing for them. “Now I know why 
poor little Mrs. Stanton always looks like a 
nervous wreck.” 

“You only wish you were ‘poor little Mrs. 
Stanton’!” snapped Jack. “I bet she’s as 
proud as Lucifer! Gosh!” 

ii 7 


THE GREEN C 


It never had occurred to him before that 
Stanton had a mother. Stanton’s home had 
existed in Jack’s mind as a sort of gymnasium, 
where he was rubbed down after his hard 
games. This remark of his sister’s opened 
up new fields of thought. He pictured Stan- 
ton’s little mother hovering about her heroic 
son, who alternately jollied and protected her, 
while she glowed with pride. 

The Saturday after Thanksgiving the lake 
froze, and the whole leisured and semi- 
leisured class of the town took to skates. 
And there Jack happened to be of the group 
that gathered about Bub Stanton when he 
fell and broke his skate. As Jack had been 
circling around Stanton’s little crowd ever 
since the early moment when he had first 
spied his hero, his timely arrival was not so 
much of a coincidence as it seemed. 

The boys were condoling with Stanton, 
where he sat on the frozen bank of the lake, 
gazing at the broken shaft of steel. 

“Pity it wasn’t your leg, Bub,” said Fatty 
Phelps, regretfully. “Legs mend themselves 
when you leave ’em alone.” 

“Aw, go on; won’t he need his leg more 
than his skate?” returned Tin Pan Cauldwell, 
who was inclined to be super-subtle. 

“But he can’t lend them,” sighed Eliott, 
118 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GOD 


Edie’s good-looking member of the eleven. 
“Boy, we mourn with thee.” 

“Stick it together, old sock,” suggested 
Stanton, good-humored in all his misfortune, 
handing the skate up to him. “Tie a knot 
in it, dear old Samson.” 

“Let Fatty do it,” answered Eliott. “He 
must have loads of energy stored up that he’s 
never put to any good use.” 

“Let Eliott solder it together with some 
of that hot air he’s wasting,” rebutted 
Fatty. 

“Go on, fellers” — Stanton suddenly looked 
up at the sun — “don’t let all this good ice 
melt on you. It ’ll get slushy while you’re 
talking. Don’t bother about me. I’m going 
to hike for home and mother.” He started 
to remove his other skate. 

“I say, Stanton,” piped up Jack, in a 
scared, thin voice, “I’m so cold I’m going to 
quit. Take mine, will you?” 

A hush fell on the group, and Jack found 
himself wishing that the ice would crack open 
and make a meal of them all. 

“Good kid,” commented Tin Pan. 

“A very kind, agreeable little boy,” sup- 
plemented Foster. 

“Go on! He has more nature in him than 
the whole pack of you,” broke in Stanton, 
1 19 


THE GREEN C 


roughly. “Get out of here, all of you! I’ve 
got something I want to say to him.” 

They started to disperse laughingly, but 
Tin Pan and Fatty Phelps held back, uncer- 
tain. 

“Say, old man,” began Phelps, haltingly, 
“don’t let the kid do anything rash while 
I’m here. You know me, old cheese; I ain’t 
so strong on the exercise game as — ” 

“Beat it!” was the polite response. 

“Aw, look here,” said Tin Pan, “let’s all 
three of us quit an’ — ” 

“How long are you going to intrude your 
company on us? We have private business, 
me and the kid, here. Git!” 

They got, a little thoughtfully, and, once 
out of ear-shot, made mountains of their own 
shortcomings in the line of generosity. 

“Now, kid,” said Stanton, looking at Jack, 
whose face had turned a deep magenta, 
“what’s all this row about your giving up 
your skates? Suppose I went and took ’em, 
then what?” 

“I think we Cleveland fellers owe you 
something,” replied Jack, gruffly. “Besides, 
I’m cold and I don’t want to skate anymore. 
Go on, take them.” He started to unclamp 
them. 

Stanton rubbed his rough hair perplexedly. 

120 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GOD’ 


The ice stretched steel-blue and virgin smooth. 
It was plain Jack was anxious for him to take 
the sacrifice. It would make him happier, 
came the illuminating thought, but it was 
followed by a much better idea. 

'‘What do you say to a walk instead? ,, he 
demanded. “Just you and me?” 

Here was the reward unto the meek. 

“Sure you’d rather?” was all Jack was able 
to reply; then, eagerly: “Do you like chest- 
nut-hunting ? I know a peachie grove ! 
Just dandy! But it’s kind of a long walk.” 

“You’re on!” 

They strapped their skates together and 
swung off side by side in the short November 
afternoon. The glory of the roads, the pale, 
topaz sky, the whipping and crackling of the 
wind in bare branches, bit into them like acid. 
Jack was ready to sing with joy, and they did 
sing, for Stanton’s brother was at college, 
and Stanton was able to teach Jack the words 
and airs of sacred college songs that Jack had 
heard of and read of but did not know. They 
talked of college, then, and careers and the 
hereafter, and football and books and dreams. 
They set up ideals and belittled their in- 
structors. Stanton had a plan for an aero- 
plane, so simple and practical that Jack chafed 
lest it should be thought of and constructed 
12 1 


THE GREEN C 


by a man of more capital before they got 
home. Jack asked Stanton’s advice about 
what he should invent. Stanton told him 
that Stapleton had a list of minerals that were 
not being put to any practical use, so he sug- 
gested that Jack should try to find a use for 
some of them. Jack decided to become a 
chemist. He described how he had once 
met Professor Marshfield. Talking it over 
now, he discovered he really had been more 
attracted to the old man than he had thought 
at the time. Perhaps there was fate in it. 

It was all but dark when they reached the 
chestnut grove and gathered up shadowy 
pocketfuls. It was moonlight when they 
started home. Stanton’s watch showed half 
past six and after. They undertook the three 
miles home at a brisk trot. 

“Gee whiz,’’ said Jack, “I’ll be in wrong 
if I’m late for supper again!’’ 

“’Phone from my house,” said Stanton, 
“it’s nearer; or, I’ll tell you” — a bright idea 
struck him — “stay at my place for supper.” 

The luminous spheres above them, choiring 
to the young-eyed cherubim, had nothing on 
Jack. He half demurred, then: 

“I guess I had better,” he said. “Thanks. 
I’ll ’phone first.” 

Stanton’s little mother was not waiting 
122 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GOD 


supper for him when they arrived at a quarter 
past seven. Moreover, in the brightly lighted 
dining-room there was a crowd which Jack 
quaked to see, as he took his stand at the 
'phone in the hall. 

'‘You've got company,” he said. "I’d 
better say I’ll be right over home.” 

"Nonsense!” 

A miracle had happened to Stanton; some 
of his age had dropped from him and some of 
his ease, as he stood in the full glow of the 
yellow electric lights. 

"That's just us,” he declared. "We’re 
rather a large family.” 

He went into the dining-room; and Jack, at 
the 'phone, had the benefit of two irate 
mothers at once. 

"Your father's worried to death,” came 
through the receiver. 

"Saturday night!” exclaimed the dining- 
room. 

"Anything but skating; you know how 
nervous we are about — ” 

"Well, he’ll have to do with scraps, and not 
much of them, at this hour of — ” 

"At Stantons’! Utter strangers! You 
impose upon Mrs. Stanton at this time of 
night!” 

"No, Harry; I’ll speak just as loud as I 
123 


THE GREEN C 


wish. Robert ought to be more considerate. 
He's old enough now — " 

“Very well; but come home right after 
supper, and be sure you apologize to Mrs. 
Stanton for all the trouble and incon- 
venience — " 

“ — you needn't let him starve in the hall, 
anyway!" 

The receiver went up, and Bub Stanton 
reappeared, a new Stanton to Jack, strangely 
diminished, quiet, shy, subdued. 

“Come in," he said, with a weak attempt 
at a swagger. 

“Say," whispered Jack, “if you're not sure 
— I’d — I 'd — rather — ’ ' 

“Aw, come on." Stanton took him affec- 
tionately by the arm. But Jack did not thrill 
to this mark of comradeship. He was too 
full of other feelings. 

Stanton had three brothers, a sister, and a 
couple of parents; but if any one had told 
Jack there were only six around the table, he 
would not have hesitated to call such mathe- 
matics faulty. 

“Come in, come in," said Mrs. Stanton, 
quickly, “and don't judge us by this meal. 
Robert never can remember the days of the 
week. We dine at midday on Saturdays, so 
fear you will get only a light supper." 

124 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GOD 

'‘Bobby's lucky we have anything at all,” 
laughed one of the brothers. “Mother’s boast- 
ing about our eats. Now Bobbie, I’ve left a 
whole potato here for you, if you want it.” 

Bub Stanton shrank and shrank. Jack 
turned away his eyes. 

“Well,” said Bub’s sister, cheerfully, “it’s 
hard to remember when you’re skating or 
playing ball, isn’t it? I used to be the same.” 

“I suppose your mother has as much 
trouble as the rest of us?” said Mrs. Stanton. 
“You neglect your family, too, in the foot- 
ball season.” 

Jack writhed. His food choked him. The 
pyre was alight, the Rhine was rising, Val- 
halla was crumbling like sand. For, though 
being exalted to the gods may be an incentive 
to martyrdom, the leveling of the gods is 
unspeakable. 

Through the comer of his eye he saw 
“Bobbie,” not Bub Stanton, doubled over his 
plate, his ears scarlet, his eyes lowered, his 
voice still. He hated the Stantons as a race of 
giants who crushed his world even as they 
sought to put him at his ease with gentle 
raillery. They meant kindly, and he could 
not know that they only lacked perspective. 
Even Parker Stanton, who went to college, 
saw all high-school inmates now as “boys.” 

9 I2 5 


THE GREEN C 


'‘Nice child, the little Downing; but shy 
as a collie,” was Sister Stanton’s sum-up. 
“Maybe he heard you, mother.” 

“Boys don’t lose their appetites that way,” 
answered Mrs. Stanton. ' ' They ate too many 
chestnuts. Bobbie hardly touched his supper 
either.” 

Outside on the veranda, in the frosty moon- 
light, the two boys were shaking hands. 
Bub was quiet with the dignity of the van- 
quished, and Jack felt something warmer 
and fuller than any worship surging in his 
breast. They had said good night, and Jack 
was starting off, when he heard a little whistle, 
and in the husky staccato, absolutely reserved 
for one period of a boy’s life: “Jack! I say, 
you Jack!” 

“Hello! What’s up, Bub?” 

He went back up the silvery path to the 
crackling vines, unconscious of the tender- 
ness in his own voice. 

"Say, Jack — listen. Meet me Monday — 
after school.” 

Then black silence, and their hands met in a 
bone-fracturing grip that lasted till Stanton 
withdrew with a sudden passionate shyness 
and backed into the shadows of the porch. 
“Night, Jackie!” he sang out, cheerfully. 

“Night, Bub!” Jack’s voice cracked. 

126 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GOD 


Many emotions had made this day memo- 
rable to him, but this was the strangest of all, 
for beyond unendurable pain was awakening 
joy. He trudged on his ringing way home, 
feeling that twilight had come and gone, that 
night was passing, and a hint of quiet dawn 
was in the air. 


IX 


A QUESTION OF ACTORS 

D OWNING!” 

It was lunch-time on Monday, and 
Jack looked up from his daily squabble with 
Cartwright to answer his name. The more 
or less awed whisper among his classmates 
that it was Bub Stanton, who stood at the 
door, filled him with a sense of superiority 
to those who were still in ignorance of the 
fact that the great Bub Stanton was mortal. 
Cartwright alone failed to be impressed. 
“Who? — Stanton?” he asked. 

Miskell nodded, glowing in the reflected 
glory of being a friend of a friend of the 
celebrity. 

“ My brother says this Stanton — Bub — isn’t 
a patch on what his brother Parker used to 
be. My brother knew Park Stanton very 
intimately. He’s at college now — Stanton’s 
brother.” 

Meantime Jack had met Stanton at the 
class-room door, and was honored by having 
128 


A QUESTION OF ACTORS 

Bub take him confidentially by the arm and 
draw him excitedly into the long hall. 

“Say,” exclaimed Bub, “listen! I wanted 
you to meet me and come home with me this 
afternoon so’s I could show you the model of 
that aeroplane I spoke of, but I sha’n’t be 
able to do it now. I’ll tell you — ” he looked 
around the hall as one about to impart se- 
crets of importance, and lowered his voice. 
“You’re not to say a word yet, but I want 
to tell you, because then you’ll understand 
about this afternoon, and I guess it will 
tickle you, too. Listen — ’’ 

“What?” Jack strained his ears to be 
able to catch Bub’s lightest whisper. But 
half of Bub’s extreme caution was nervous 
exuberance. 

“I — I — Tin Pan Cauldwell has written 
the Christmas play.” 

Jack tried to look properly delighted with 
this news, but Tin Pan had never been much 
to him, save the name of a paragon, whose 
chief virtue consisted in being a favored 
satellite of Bub Stanton’s. 

“Gee! He’s a wonder!” he said, mustering 
up his enthusiasm. 

“Yes, listen!” Apparently, from Bub’s ex- 
cited voice, the really important part had not 
come yet. “I — I — wrote it with him.” 

129 


THE GREEN C 


“You!” There was no need to simulate 
joy now. Jack almost shouted this. 

“Hush!” But Stanton's face was beaming. 
“They're not to know till Doc Hall announces 
it officially in chapel to-morrow.” 

“Oh, say!” gasped Jack, trying to control 
his feelings. “Can’t I even tell Miskell?” 

“Yes, but wait till after school. Say, 
listen.” Bub Stanton halted again. “There 
were sixteen plays submitted, and ours was 
chosen.” 

“Oh, Caesar! That's great! That's slick! 
Honest, I’m awful glad. I — I could just yell! 
Can’t I even shake hands on it?” 

Their hands met, and Jack, who, after all, 
had three years' growth before him ere his 
hand would become as big and horny as his 
friend’s, was a little sorry for a moment that 
he had suggested this particular form of con- 
gratulation. 

“So you see,” said Stanton, “Tin Pan and 
I will have to stay in for a while this after- 
noon and talk it over with old Kempsy.” 
Kemp was the head of the English depart- 
ment, who judged and censured these plays. 

“Sure,” nodded Jack, with sparkling eyes. 

“Then we’ve got to get to work on it in 
dead earnest and put it into shape. They 
have to start rehearsals right away.” 

130 


A QUESTION OF ACTORS 


“I bet you wrote it all, and Cauldwell just 
helped a little,” said Jack, from the bottom 
of his heart. 

“Oh no — honest!” Bub assured him, quick- 
ly. “We each did about the same. Oh, it’s a 
great play!” he added, without false modesty. 
“It’s the best we ever had! Say, listen!” 
Another careful glance around for eaves- 
droppers. “Don't breathe a word of this, not 
even to what’s-his-name.” 

“Miskell?” 

“Yes. No, I’d better not tell you. I 
oughtn’t.” 

“Aw yes, go on! I’ll cross my heart, I’ll 
swear, I’ll say anything you want me to, 
to promise I won’t ever even think of it 
again.” 

“Just swear, then.” 

“I do.” 

“Well, listen. There are pirates in it.” 

“O— <x>! Honest?” 

Stanton nodded swiftly. 

“That was my idea. The whole faculty is 
a band of pirates, and they’ve captured the 
students — see? That’s all I’m going to say. 
And remember, you’ve sworn. Not a soul.” 

The bell interrupted Stanton from revealing 
any more of the plot. Jack, feeling obsessed 
with tremendous news and a little doubtful as 
131 


THE GREEN C 

to his ability to contain it, re-entered his 
class-room. 

It was the custom at Cleveland to allow 
the students to burlesque the faculty and 
their school life annually in a Christmas play, 
well edited and pruned by the head of the 
English department. Boys singly or in groups 
would work up and submit scenarios during 
the week before Thanksgiving, and the Tues- 
day after was always the day of judgment. 

Jack could hardly wait for the announce- 
ment in chapel in his desire to boast to Cart- 
wright that Bub Stanton had told him before 
it had been officially made public and as soon 
as he knew it himself. But when the time 
came Jack realized that his friendship with 
Stanton was something more than merely a 
matter to brag about to the less fortunate, 
and he said nothing about it. 

“ Great Scott! but Cauld well's a wonder!" 
was Cartwright’s tactful ejaculation when 
they returned from chapel. It drew the 
expected fire from Miskell but left Jack lofty 
and unmoved. 

It was not until Friday afternoon that Jack 
was able to see Bub Stanton for more than a 
hurried moment at a time. Even from these 
unsatisfactory glimpses he could gather that 
something was troubling Bub, though the 
132 


A QUESTION OF ACTORS 


senior did not tell him anything more definite 
than that they were having some difficulty 
casting the play. 

Friday afternoon, however, they had the 
time and surroundings for indulging comfort- 
ably in confidences. After they had examined 
the aeroplane, simpler in theory than in 
actual construction, and had given each other 
hundreds of good reasons why it was the best 
thing yet invented along these lines, they sat 
back in big chairs and talked about school, 
which at this season of the year really meant 
the Christmas play. 

'‘But here’s an awful mess,” said Bub, 
leaning forward and speaking intimately. 
41 I’d just made Cap'n Maul , the pirate chief, 
you know, for Graham. That is, maybe not 
exactly for him, but I had him in mind all 
along. He’d make a peach of a groucho, and 
Cap'n Maul is — oh, he’s just a winner for that! 
I wonder how Kempsy allowed us to keep 
all we did in the play. He’s supposed to be 
Doc Hall, you see, when the old man has his 
feathers up. And there’s one part — ” Stan- 
ton stopped short and reddened. “It’s 
beastly, not being able to tell, but it isn’t fair 
to Tin Pan if I do. I’d told you all about 
the pirates before, though, so that much 
doesn’t matter.” 


133 


THE GREEN C 


4 ‘And I haven’t even mentioned them to 
myself since, 9 ’ answered J ack, quickly. 1 1 Hon- 
est, I’ve never breathed it!” 

“But I won’t tell any more, anyway, on 
account of Tin Pan. Just stop me when I 
start to.” Jack promised. “Then, as I was* 
saying, I sort of had my eye peeled for 
Graham, and Tin Pan agreed with me. We 
kind of wanted to offer a big part to Graham 
as long as it fitted him so well, and he’s been 
— oh, well, you know the way the soreheads 
have been acting since that resignation busi- 
ness. But when we put it up to the class 
presidents they kicked and said they knew 
there’d be a lot of hard feeling if Graham got 
it. Well, we had a regular young Senate 
scene and got up and made speeches for and 
against, and finally Tin Pan and I convinced 
them that it was our play and we knew best 
who would do for the characters we’d made 
up. It was a swell debate. There’s a lot in 
debating when you’re not doing it in a literary 
society and you know what you’re talking 
about.” 

“It must have been slick,” assented Jack, 
with glowing eyes. “So you got Graham in it?” 

“Wait a minute. Some underhand little 
beast went around blabbing about the kind 
of a fight it had been. Naturally, Graham 
134 


A QUESTION OF ACTORS 


turned us down faster than we could blink. 
And if you’ve ever tried to move a house by 
pushing it you’ll know what it’s like to try 
to make Graham change his mind. Even 
so, we might have managed it if the fellers 
hadn’t shown how glad they were that he 
kept out of it. Oh, but we were sore!” 

“What a sloppy trick!” 

“We got our dander up then, and we fixed 
it between us to veto every man they put up 
for Maul , so they’d have to take Graham. 
You see, the authors have to agree to the 
choice. Caesar, but that was a funny meet- 
ing!” Stanton chuckled at the remembrance. 
“Solemn old Pritchard, the president of the 
year, bringing up man after man, and we, 
sitting there knocking them as if we hated 
’em all. 'How’s Elliott?’ Pritchard would 
yell, thinking he’d caught us because Elliott’s 
on the team. ' Rotten !’ we’d holler. ' Foster, 
then?’ 'Punk!’ 'Marks?’ 'Awful!’ He even 
put up Fatty Phelps! Finally, when we’d 
used up all the good actors by fitting them 
into other parts, we had the play all cast 
and no Cap'n Maul . Just what Tin Pan and 
I were after.” 

“You mean that not only would they have 
to elect Graham, but he’d have to take it?” 
Jack glowed at this strategy. 

i35 


THE GREEN C 


“Yep. We simply histed it onto Graham. 
And what do you think he did?” 

“What?” asked Jack, breathless. 

“He got up a campaign to elect Tin Pan 
as Maul. . That finished us.” 

“But I thought the authors couldn’t take 
part in it?” Jack had learned this when he 
had asked Bub what part he was going to 
take. 

“As a rule, they can’t; but under special 
conditions they’re allowed.” 

“Tin Pan refused, of course?” 

“Well,” Stanton hesitated, “you see, it 
was getting late, and we thought the play 
would go to smash if we didn’t do something, 
and Tin Pan is a marvel. We didn’t want to 
gum up the parade any longer with our ob- 
stinacy. Then we weren’t giving in to them, 
and, as a matter of fact, they really were 
giving in to Graham. See? But I’d like to 
get hold of that small rat that first shot off 
his mouth about what happened in the pres- 
idents’ meeting, and put Graham wise.” 

Of course the details of this political con- 
troversy soon became known all over the 
school, and the boys now turned against 
Graham as a “piker” for not taking the part 
offered him. The defenders of big Graham, 
as usual, had their hands full. 

136 


A QUESTION OF ACTORS 


As the days drew nearer to Christmas and 
the rehearsals progressed, the boys forgot 
everything but the coming holidays and the 
frolics that were to precede them. Even 
Graham, as a public enemy, was fast being 
overlooked. Time had been wasted that 
could not be made up, and double work fell 
upon the members of the cast, who went 
about looking fagged and worn under the 
unaccustomed strain. 

Christmas day fell on Friday, and the Sun- 
day afternoon before Jack met Bub Stanton 
coming out of Tin Pan Cauldwell’s house. 
He noticed that the senior looked flushed and 
troubled. 

“ Hello !” called Jack. 

Bub started at the sound of his voice, and 
a strange expression of anxiety combined with 
hope passed over his face. 

“ Hello !” he returned. “ Which way are 
you going?” 

“ Nowhere, special. That is, I’m on my way 
home now. Why? Can I do anything for you?” 

“ No.” Stanton’s extraordinary manner in- 
creased. “No; I guess not, thanks.” 

“Is anything the matter?” demanded Jack. 

Stanton hesitated. 

“Listen,” he said, haltingly, “Tin Pan’s 
sick.” 

i37 


THE GREEN C 


41 Sick!” echoed Jack, horrified. “ What's 
the matter with him?” 

“I don’t know.” Stanton rubbed up his 
hair. “But he looks awful.” 

“Did you see him?” 

“Yes. And he’s worrying all the time 
about the play.” 

“I should think he would,” declared Jack, 
sympathetically. “Why, it’s not a week off. 
What would happen if he couldn’t take part?” 

“It would go to smash,” answered Stanton, 
promptly. “He has the chief part. They 
say he’ll get brain-fever if he goes on worry- 
ing, too.” 

“Graham!” exclaimed Jack, suddenly. 

* * What on earth — ’ ’ Stanton looked at him 
as though he feared for his sanity. 

“Find Graham right away!” suggested Jack, 
excitedly. “Tell him, and I’ll bet he’ll do it.” 

“What! Learn a whole part in a couple of 
days? The play is on Thursday! Oh no! 
It’s not likely, the way he’s been refusing all 
along.” 

Jack’s face fell. 

“Then you must try it,” he ventured. 

“Not on your life. I can’t act worth a 
cent, and I’ve got enough to do running the 
blessed thing. No thanks! That’s out of 
the question.” 

138 


A QUESTION OF ACTORS 


“Then it's got to be Graham,” said Jack, 
after a pause. “Hasn’t it? Oh, say, I’m 
sure he’d do it if you put it up to him right.” 

Stanton eyed Jack speculatively. 

“I wonder if we could,” he mused, aloud. 
“Now, I think there is one way we might. 
He likes you, and maybe you could handle 
him. He’s — well, he’s sort of suspicious of 
Tin Pan and me. He might think it was just 
a — well, a trick. But if you went maybe — ” 

“I don’t see why he should pay more at- 
tention to me than he would to you,” said 
Jack, modestly. “But I can try — if you’d 
like.” 

“If you would!” exclaimed Stanton, fer- 
vently. “Then I could go back and tell Tin 
Pan it’s all right. Here, I’ve got the part 
with me; and if Graham takes it, make him 
begin to study right away for to-morrow’s 
rehearsal. There’s an awful lot for him to 
do!” 

“What can I tell him is the matter with Tin 
Pan?” Jack suddenly began to waver. 

“We don’t know yet.” 

“Hasn’t he had the doctor?” asked Jack. 
“Say! You’d better not go near him till he 
does. He might be having scarlet fever or 
measles or something.” 

“They were just going to have the doctor 
139 


THE GREEN C 


when I left. Tell Graham it looked con- 
tagious," said Stanton. “That paper is a 
copy I had in my own house, so it's all right," 
he added, hastily. 

“I’m not afraid," said Jack, scornfully. 
“I’ll beat it right on to Graham’s. But don’t 
you go too near Tin Pan till you find out 
what’s the trouble, anyway." 

“Don’t worry; I’ll just stop back and tell 
his mother, so’s he won’t worry any more." 
Stanton turned back. “And remember," he 
added, from the pathway, “the whole play 
depends on you, now." 

“Good-by." Jack blushed under this trib- 
ute. “Gosh, he’s a fine sort," he mused, as 
he trudged off. 

It was with some trepidation that he at last 
faced Graham. 

“Tin Pan Cauld well’s sick," he began. 
“Did you know it?" 

“TinPan!" exclaimed Graham. “ Why,Isaw 
him yesterday ! What’s the trouble with him?" 

“I don’t know. Bub Stanton told me. 
The doctor hadn’t come when he left. But 
he says it looks contagious and that poor Tin 
Pan is feeling awful. He’s so worried over 
the play." 

Graham looked at him searchingly, and 
Jack squirmed under his gaze. 

140 


A QUESTION OF ACTORS 


“Bub Stanton/’ he blurted out, “said that 
you wouldn’t take the part in the play if 
Cauldwell can’t, and I said you would.’’ 

“Me?” repeated Graham, uncomfortably, 
regardless of grammar. “Oh, Tin Pan ain’t 
so sick as all that.” 

“Yes, yes ; he is !” contradicted Jack, quickly. 
“He has fever, and Bub says they’re scared it 
may turn to brain-fever, if he worries. Bub 
was all up in the air about it. He looks as if 
he might get sick over it, too.” 

“Did he suggest me?” asked Graham, in a 
manner that unnerved Jack. He did not 
know the right answer, so he decided to tell 
the truth. 

“No — I did. You see, I — I — don’t think 
he knows quite what a good sport — you are,” 
he stammered, shyly. 

Graham remained silent a moment. 

“Isn’t there any one else?” he asked, 
finally. 

“You know what trouble they had before 
they decided on Tin Pan.” Jack took hope 
from his tone. “And look how little time 
there is!” 

There was another long pause. 

“Where’s my — where’s Tin Pan’s part?” 
demanded Graham at last, gruffly. 

Here was Graham’s chance to make good, 

10 Hi 


THE GREEN C 


and he took it. The story spread about the 
high school like wildfire that Tin Pan had 
fallen ill on the eve of his play, and big Gra- 
ham had consented to be his substitute. 
Graham’s enemies denied this rumor till it 
was proven by the fact that Tin Pan was 
absent and some of the boys had even visited 
at his bedside. Stanton reported daily on his 
case to the school at large: “Not well enough 
to get up yet.” A fear arose that poor 
Cauldwell would not live even to hear of the 
success of the play. Boys began to speak of 
him reverently, and in awe, as the best student 
and the most popular boy Cleveland ever had 
harbored. His epitaphs were ready for him, 
but he did not die. 

Graham called at his house regularly, 
always to be met with the news, “Better, but 
very weak.” Once he was permitted to see 
Tin Pan, who lay languid through the inter- 
view and seemed exhausted at the close. 
According to Bub Stanton, his illness had been 
diagnosed as a general collapse after a nervous 
strain. People began to beg Bub himself to 
be careful. 

Wednesday Cauldwell was said to be so 
much better that they hoped with care to 
allow him to be present at the play, and it was 
like him that he was able to pull through in 
142 


A QUESTION OF ACTORS 


the very nick of time. The students felt 
somehow that his recovery was due to his 
own efforts, and many wondered if he had the 
right to force himself in this way. 

Graham rose to the occasion, having been 
put on his mettle, and astonished the school 
not only by having learned his part in three 
days, but by outdoing all the rest of the cast, 
so far as acting went. It turned the tide of 
popularity in his direction. His enemies ad- 
mitted that Cauldwell could have done no 
better and they “had to hand it to him.” 
When the curtain fell and the cheers were 
given, the cry for Graham was only second to 
that for Tin Pan Cauldwell. 

“Gee! but doesn’t Tin Pan look fine! You 
wouldn’t think he’d been sick at all,” ex- 
claimed Miskell to Jack, when it was all over 
and they were crowding close upon the au- 
thors to congratulate them. 

A great light began to dawn upon Jack. 
As soon as he was able he cornered Bub and 
put to him a leading question. He was espe- 
cially interested because of his hand in the 
affair. 

“Bub, just what is a general collapse?” 

“It’s awful,” said Bub, seriously. “It’s a 
disease actors often get.” 

They were interrupted by a new cheer that 
143 


THE GREEN C 


arose as Graham crossed the chapel in the 
trappings of Cap'n Maul . Through it they 
heard the gratifying calls : 1 1 Graham !” “Yea, 
you old Walt!” “Big Maul Graham!” “Oh 
you pirate!” 

“Listen,” whispered Bub. “That’s the best 
little cure for it I know.” 

“You mean — ” 

“But if Graham ever finds it out — whee! — 
it ’ll lose its whole effect!” 

“ Wasn’t— didn’t— ” 

“Sure! Tin Pan nearly died lying in bed 
there almost a week. He was so bored he 
played dominoes.” 

“But how did he come to think of just 
that?” 

“We had it cooked up from the start. It 
was Graham’s nonsense that first put it into 
our heads. He thought he was so clever 
making Tin Pan take the part! We never 
could have done it if he hadn’t. You’re 
right, Tin Pan can act! He was some in- 
valid, believe me.” Bub grinned shame- 
lessly, “O-oh, sa-ay!” he drawled, delightedly, 
“don’t talk to me about Christmas plays!” 


X 


THE HOLIDAY 

A WHOLE week to rest in,” said Jack, the 
Sunday night after Christmas. “ No school 
in the morning — no school all week! Oh, say! 
The only trouble is it goes too quickly,” he 
added, with a touch of sadness, facing the 
worst in the midst of his delight. 

“Yes,” assented Edie, sympathetically. 
“There is so much you want to do during 
the week, and you never get the chance to 
do more than half of it.” 

“Well, I don’t want to do anything,” 
yawned Jack. “I’m through doing for a 
while; I’m going to loaf. And if any one 
wakes me and tries to make me get up to- 
morrow morning I’m going to throw things 
at ’em.” He was looking at Emily, whose 
ungrateful task it was to see that her brother 
was out of bed in time to get to school. She 
appeared to be reading, but her eyes rose 
like little moons over the edge of the book at 
Jack’s insinuation. 


145 


THE GREEN C 


'‘You shall sleep,” she declared, firmly. 
“It means a holiday for me, too. Perhaps 
you think I like going in and waking you.” 

As though this had been an evil spell put 
upon him by an insulted fairy, inclined to 
mischief-making, Jack did sleep. He slept 
the round of the clock, and woke with the 
winter sun in his room and the house unusu- 
ally still. He studiously avoided looking at 
the time, and lay around in bed dozing and 
stretching to his heart’s content. Once he 
heard the door-bell ring, several times he lis- 
tened to the trades-wagons drive through on 
the frozen road, but nothing disturbed him. 
For once in his life he was going to get as 
much bed as he wanted, and here he dis- 
covered that magic truth about this article 
of furniture — the longer you remain in one the 
harder it is to leave it. 

Finally he arose and dressed slowly, and 
only upon entering the deserted dining-room 
deigned for the first time to look at the clock. 
It was twenty minutes to twelve! 

He was in dread of having Mary come in 
to clear away his lone breakfast things, to set 
the table for lunch, thereby cheating him out 
of a meal; so he sat down quickly, and un- 
covered his dishes. Everything had that 
cold, dead look of a fossilized repast of pre- 
146 


THE HOLIDAY 


historic man. The sound of washing going 
on in the kitchen was a warning to him from 
that direction. He hesitated some time be- 
fore he was able to gather up sufficient courage 
to take his coffee-cup in to Annie to have it 
refilled with something more suited to the 
temperature of the morning. He had, with 
boy-like fortitude, swallowed iced eggs and 
oatmeal glace, and he felt the need of some- 
thing warm in him to quell the doubts that 
arose whenever he thought of this gastronomic 
triumph. 

In the kitchen, however, his darkest fears 
were verified. Whatever sparks of good 
humor she possessed Annie always quenched 
in the seething tubs on wash-day. 

“Is it coffee for breakfast ye’re after at 
this hour? An’ me up before sunrise to get a 
bit of washin’ done so’s to be able to have 
lunch for ye in time! An’ where’d ye think 
I’d be keepin’ coffee on a stove the like of 
that? With a wash-boiler the size of a house 
itself on top of it, filled up with wash I can’t 
see me hands gettin’ through this blessed 
day. Why couldn’t you be coomin’ down 
with dacint people, the way ye’d get yer 
breakfast at the proper hour? Is it on 
Monday mornin’ that ye come botherin’ me 
as if I was idlin’ away me time with no 
147 


THE GREEN C 

thought but to attind on youse? Coffee, says 
you!” 

Jack vanished unwarmed. 

By this time the doubts concerning his 
breakfast became more or less of a certainty. 
He wondered if missing a meal would have 
been such a hardship after all. He felt it 
was absolutely necessary to get his mind off 
cold eggs and porridge. 

At this moment Emily came in looking 
so obstreperously cheerful and rosy in her 
becoming Christmas furs that Jack in his 
present state of mind may be pardoned for 
taking it as a personal affront. 

“ Hello!” she exclaimed. “Up, Jackie?” 

“No, I’m still asleep in bed, can’t you see?” 
snapped Jack. “And my name is Jack' 1 

“So, ho, Jackie,” said his sister, imper- 
turbably. “Rest doesn’t seem to agree with 
our Jackie’s temper.” 

“Jack, I tell you,” corrected Jack, angrily. 

“ Or have they been telling you what you’ve 
been missing by your slothfulness?” Emily 
diplomatically steered clear of a noisy skirmish 
by avoiding the name entirely. 

“What do you mean?” Jack’s curiosity was 
pricked. 

“Your little friend what’s - his - name — 
Murphy — ” 


148 


THE HOLIDAY 


“Miskell,” Jack interrupted, indignantly. 

“Yes, Miskell, he, was here, and he wanted 
you to go skating with him.” 

“Skating? Is there skating?” 

“There is, indeed. Or there was. It’s 
much milder now, so it’s probably thawing.” 

“I’ll beat it over there now.” 

“Hardly worth while. It’s twelve already, 
and we have lunch at one.” Jack shuddered 
at the thought. 

“I don’t want any lunch,” he declared. 

“That’s so, you must have just finished 
breakfast. But other people are hungry, es- 
pecially after skating. You’ll get over there 
just in time to see them all going home to 
eat.” 

“I don’t care,” answered Jack, sullenly. 
“I’nj, going anyway. Where’s Edie?” 

“You’ll probably find her over there. She 
went with Nellie Joyce. And you’d better 
remind her to come home.” 

Jack struggled into his outdoor things, 
hunted up his skates, and departed. 

The minute the sharp air blew upon him 
the cold breakfast seemed to respond and set 
him shivering. He did not see how Emily 
could have used such a word as “mild” in 
connection with this sort of weather. Gray 
clouds were gathering, causing the sun to play 
149 


THE GREEN C 


an aggravating game of hide-and-seek with 
poor, chilled mortals like Jack, who desired 
its warmth. 

It was nearly half past twelve when Jack 
reached the lake; and, as Emily had predicted, 
the skaters were already beginning to leave, 
their going hastened by the threatening sky. 
A little group of high-school boys, composed 
of Tin Pan Cauldwell, Graham, Bub Stanton, 
and Fatty Phelps, passed him on the other 
side of the street. 

"Hello, Downing! You're late!" 

"I know it," answered Jack, trying not to 
sound as sore as he felt at having it rubbed in. 
"Ice any good?" 

"Fine!" was the answer in chorus; to which 
Tin Pan supplemented. " Gettin’ a bit slushy, 
now, though. You'd better hurry." 

"Coming back this afternoon?" asked Jack. 

"Nix — had enough. Kind of cold," came 
the various excuses, and Bub Stanton mo- 
tioned to the clouds. "There ain’t a-goin' 
to be no afternoon," he misquoted, with a 
cheerful spirit of prophecy. 

They all went on their way whistling and 
taking with them most of the charm of skat- 
ing, so far as Jack was concerned. 

Of course, Miskell was probably there 
still, and some others of his classmates, like 
150 


THE HOLIDAY 


Salle and Cameron and Jennings. Even 
Cartwright, with whom Jack quarreled regu- 
larly every day, would be some one — Jack 
rather enjoyed his differences with Cart- 
wright. But by the time Jack had put on 
his skates and started out, the ice was emptied 
of all familiar and congenial faces. He 
skated around three times in a vain search 
for Edie. The idea had come to him to de- 
tain her with the false report that lunch was 
to be excessively late. Thus he might have 
her company for a while and annoy Emily 
at the same time. After all, Edie was more 
entertaining than no one, and she had a most 
gratifying appreciation of his good skating. 
But these wicked plans were frustrated by the 
fact that Edie already had gone home in quest 
of food. 

When he got back to the house lunch was 
over. Emily was for letting him do without 
any, since he had deliberately disregarded her 
admonishings and had declared that he wasn’t 
going to eat anything anyway. Emily thought 
he ought to be disciplined; but, fortunately, 
mothers are kinder. Skating after a breakfast 
such as Jack had eaten is not conducive to 
bodily comfort. 

In the afternoon the clouds of the morning 
made good their warning, and, though they 
151 


THE GREEN C 


could not decide upon whether it should snow 
or rain, they made a very creditable attempt 
at doing both at the same time. This dismal 
mixture Jack watched from the parlor win- 
dows, then from the dining-room, then from 
the library, then up-stairs to the windows in 
his own room, then in Edie’s room, then his 
mother's and again down-stairs to the parlor, 
and so on the rounds of the house — an aim- 
less, profitless, hopeless proceeding that drove 
the more active members of his family nearly 
frantic. He envied Edith, who was so busily 
making favors for the little party she was to 
give next day ; and even Emily and his mother 
seemed happy over some stupid sewing. It 
is strange what things can occupy women ! To 
cap it all, the volcanic Annie was singing in 
the kitchen — a sign that she, too, was con- 
tent, with the end of her day’s work in sight. 

Jack came to the conclusion that in work 
alone lay salvation and delight, and his last 
day of idleness upon this earth was spent. 

'‘Did you tell Mary to wake you up to- 
morrow morning?” asked Emily, coming into 
the library that evening, just before supper, 
having finished helping Mary set the table. 

Jack reddened. 

“Yes,” he answered, shortly. 

Emily’s eyes twinkled. 

152 


THE HOLIDAY 


“Why didn't you ask me, as you always 
do?” she demanded. 

“Because,” said Jack, promptly, “I want 
to be waked long before you think of getting 
up.” 

“Well, I pity Mary,” said Emily, with 
feeling. 

Her sympathy was wasted. Once Jack had 
made up his mind, he was determined to stand 
by his resolutions, if only to spite his elder 
sister. So he rose scarcely fifteen minutes 
after Mary’s knock and her timid “It’s half 
past six, Mister Jack.” 

He was out by a little after seven, and tried 
to believe he was enjoying the brisk walk in 
the gray, forbidding morning through the 
broken and frozen puddles left by yesterday’s 
sleet. He came back a great deal sooner 
than he had planned. A good half-hour stood 
between him and breakfast-time, and in des- 
peration, driven from virtue by dread of Annie 
and the sound of her thumping irons — it 
being Tuesday — and his Monday’s lesson was 
fresh in his memory, Jack betook himself to 
the ice-box on the porch, seeking what he 
might devour. 

It appeared in the form of a large, unusually 
rich sort of chocolate cake, known to the 
initiated as “brownstone front.” Occasions 
iS3 


THE GREEN C 


have little meaning at Jack’s age, and time 
has no conventions. Jack proceeded to eat 
a good three-quarters of it with less than a 
fleeting thought on the possibility of another 
menu being more appropriate to the hour. 

“ Getting up early doesn’t seem to agree 
with you much better than lying in bed late,” 
remarked Emily, when Jack refused oatmeal 
and confined himself merely to eggs and coffee. 

“Well, I’ve had my breakfast already, 
Smarty,” retorted Jack. 

“You did ? ’ ’ His mother looked astonished . 
‘ 1 On ironing day ! What did Annie give you ? ’ ’ 

“She didn’t give me anything. I got it for 
myself.” 

“Oh-ho,” said Edie, admiringly, “Jack’s 
getting clever. What did you have, Jack?” 

“Chocolate cake,” replied Jack, with no 
thought of concealment. 

“What!” cried every one. 

“Chocolate cake!” repeated Edith, rising 
from her chair with a most extraordinary ex- 
pression on her face. “Where did you get it?” 

“In the ice-box. Why?” 

“You nasty, greedy, wicked boy!” Edie 
stamped her foot in her fury, then burst into 
tears. “Oh, mother! Annie made it spe- 
cially for the girls this afternoon!” 

“Never mind, I’ll buy you another,” apolo- 
154 


THE HOLIDAY 


gized Jack, easily, conscious of his Christmas 
money still burning in his pocket. 

“No, you can’t! You can’t buy them!” 
sobbed Edie. “ They’re a special kind all 
filled up with caramel and nuts, and they take 
days to make!” 

“It was awfully good,” conceded Jack, 
meekly, trying to be tactful. 

“You — you — you are just — a — a — an an- 
imal!” burst out Edie, weeping afresh. 

“Don’t tease her,” interposed his mother. 
“You certainly did very wrong, Jack, and I 
am surprised at you. Edie has every right 
to be thoroughly annoyed. But, Edith, my 
child, you needn’t take it so tragically. I’ll 
see that you get a cake to replace it that will 
be just as good.” 

“It can’t be just as good.” Edie still cried 
copiously. “Nothing can be just as good. I 
was boasting to them about it. Only Annie 
knows how to make it here. It was one reason 
why I was giving my p — party!” 

“Oh, I left enough for them to sample it,” 
exclaimed Jack, eagerly, in all good-will, which 
caused a fresh explosion ; and Emily assisted 
him to the door. 

“For goodness’ sake go away and leave her 
alone. Haven’t you done enough to the poor 
child?” she scolded. 


i55 


THE GREEN C 


Jack went up-stairs feeling very much hurt. 
After all, what had he done that was so 
wicked? Ate a little cake! And the more he 
had tried to apologize and show that he was 
sorry, the worse they seemed to think of him. 
Very well, then, he wouldn’t say another word 
to comfort Edie again. He was glad he had 
eaten her old cake, at least — a slight heavi- 
ness made him change the form of his thought 
— he was glad most of it was gone. So she 
cared more about her old chocolate cake than 
her starving brother! And his mother and 
Emily taking sides with her! Women are all 
alike. They are so interested in such petty 
things, and they judge before hearing two sides 
of a case. 

At this moment Jack’s father entered the 
room, dressed to go out. He had not been 
present at the scene in the dining-room, having 
been occupied with an early business visitor 
in the library at the time. 

4 ‘What do you mean by teasing Edith and 
making her cry?” he inquired sternly. “These 
tricks may seem very funny to you at the 
time, but they are thoughtless and unmanly, 
and when you grow to have a little sense I 
promise you will regret them. I really be- 
lieved that I might expect my son to have a 
little consideration for his sister. There is 
156 


THE HOLIDAY 


nothing so despicable as the man who finds 
humor in a woman’s tears, even if it is only 
a little matter that doesn’t seem to have any 
importance to him. Never let me hear of 
anything like this again.” 

It was the last straw. Jack felt that he 
was doomed to be misunderstood. 

He spent the morning in gloomy confine- 
ment in his room voluntarily. He devoted 
himself to his chemistry note-book that was 
fast becoming a matter of great importance to 
him since he had decided at Bub Stanton’s 
suggestion to go in for chemistry. But some- 
how even these things palled this morning. 
He wondered bitterly to himself how his 
family would misconstrue this harmless stu- 
diousness. 

“I s’pose they’d think I was learning how 
to blow up the house,” he mused, sulkily. 

At lunch-time he was so silent and sullen 
himself that he did not notice that Edith 
wasn’t on speaking terms with him. It was a 
dull and ghastly meal. 

In the afternoon Jack decided to do some- 
thing active. It was thawing out, and the 
sky hung low and uninviting, so in a sudden 
inspiration he discovered the untried art of 
interior decorating. His room could so easily 
respond to a little treatment. 

11 157 


THE GREEN C 


It was in line with his present luck that the 
parlor was situated directly beneath him, and 
in the parlor Edie was entertaining her girl 
friends with gentle and lady-like writing 
games. When the thunders of moving furni- 
ture were let loose above, several of the girls 
looked up in amazement and alarm. Edie, 
when apart from Jack's influence, was pain- 
fully conventional. A party to the tune of 
house-moving was an incongruity that pained 
her. Moreover, she well knew the plan of the 
house and the relation of Jack’s room to the 
floor below, and it struck her that this might 
be allied to the chocolate-cake episode. Beg- 
ging to be excused, she left the room to in- 
vestigate. Two minutes after there was the 
loudest thump of all followed by the crash of 
splintered wood and broken glass and a blood- 
curdling girlish scream. 

“How dreadful!” cried a dark-eyed, pale 
girl, Edwina Snell, clutching at her com- 
panion, a red-faced little lady who was quak- 
ing perceptibly. “What do you suppose is 
happening?” 

“It’s her brother, Jack,” said Nellie Joyce, 
who was unable to share her chum’s sisterly 
devotion to that individual. “He’s terrible. 
Probably he has knocked her down.” 

At which there were general exclamations 
158 


THE HOLIDAY 


of disgust, horror, and indignation, followed 
by gruesome tales of brotherly cruelty, in the 
midst of which Edie returned unhurt, though 
somewhat flushed. 

Silence had been restored. 

Meantime, Jack, with a plaster on his fore- 
head, was sitting in his mother’s room leaning 
over a book, his thoughts on the chaos in his 
undecorated room. 

What really had happened was that Edie 
had chosen a very precarious moment for 
her infuriated entrance into her brother’s 
presence, for he was balanced on the head- 
board of his bed disentangling a picture wire 
from an obstinate hook that held it captive 
to the moulding. His start of surprise upon 
her angry — “ Jackie! What are — ” resulted 
in a catastrophe that cut her short, smashed a 
picture-frame, broke a chair, ripped off sev- 
eral feet of moulding, and cut open his fore- 
head in a way that set her shrieking and mis- 
led the nervous young ladies down-stairs. 

Jack’s mother came to the rescue, and sent 
Edie back to her guests. Then, having doc- 
tored up her son’s wounds, she decided to keep 
her eye on him for the rest of the afternoon. 

When the next day dawned rainy, Jack was 
exasperated. He determined that neither 
rain, hail, blizzard, earthquake, nor hurri- 
i59 


THE GREEN C 


cane should keep him about the house another 
moment. No one dreamed he had gone out 
till he showed up very late for lunch, drenched 
to the skin, his teeth chattering, and his face 
flushed. 

“Now, mother,” said Emily, as he entered 
the dining-room, “this is what comes of your 
being so easy and saving his meals for him 
when he’s late and just catering to his thought- 
lessness. Let him go without lunch for once — ’ ’ 

“I don’t want anything to eat,” returned 
Jack in a strained voice, and he left the room. 

“Jack!” called his mother. “John, come 
in here.” 

He came back slowly, and her quick ma- 
ternal eye saw all that her daughter had 
missed. 

“Where have you been, Jack?” 

“Out.” 

“So I should have imagined. But where? 

“With Miskell; for a walk.” 

“A walk!” gasped Edie and Emily, their 
eyes on the window-panes, since they could 
not for the rain-drops see through them. 

“ Yes,” answered Jack, shivering, “I couldn’t 
stand being in the house any more.” 

“Well, I think — ” began Emily, stormily. 

“Hush!” interrupted her mother, sharply. 
She rose and turned to Jack, and, taking him 

160 


THE HOLIDAY 


by the arm, led him gently to the door. 
'‘Bed’s the place for you, my son, till you get 
warmed up a bit,” she said, with tender spright- 
liness. “Emily, ask Annie to give you a nice 
fresh cup of hot tea, and bring it up to us.” 

All that evening and night Edith spent in 
weeping over her heartlessness in having 
driven Jack out into the rain to his death, 
perhaps. She decided that should he by 
some miracle recover, she would devote the 
rest of her life to making amends. It was her 
duty as his sister to have made his vacation 
attractive to him instead of so dangerous a 
bore. She resolved never to speak to him 
crossly again. 

Emily showed her remorse by giving the 
kindly inquiring friends the most alarming 
details of Jack’s symptoms, with predictions 
it was as well Jack did not hear. The next 
morning the doctor pronounced it a mild 
tonsillitis aggravated by a very bad case of 
spoilt stomach. 

“Sorry, young man,” he had said, genially, 
to Jack, at the close, “but you’ll have to spend 
the rest of your holiday week in bed. That’s 
what you get for enjoying yourself too much.” 

A few blocks away Mrs. Miskell was calling 
up the doctor for her son. 


XI 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 

F OR the school-bound, January is an evil 
month, for there seems to be a protracted 
number of blue Mondays then, strung to- 
gether and disguised to look like ordinary 
weeks, till they are smashed with the final 
calamity of Mark Day. 

When Jack returned to high school after 
the holidays he was warned by four several 
instructors that four several subjects were 
tottering so that when the reckoning came 
on the first of February he might not be over- 
whelmed with amazement. Jack was taking 
seven subjects, music and art being counted 
as two, but it was not in music nor in art 
that he was so perceptibly unsteady. To 
be brief, the one subject in which Jack 
shone, the subject on which he based ninety 
per cent, of his studying — when he studied — - 
was science, first-year chemistry, thoroughly 
simplified and more or less denatured, ap- 
plied to experimental puerility in innocuous 

162 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 


doses. Other members of the class found it 
difficult to keep their note-books on this 
subject written up to date. Jack possessed 
two, one an edition de luxe for home use and 
public display, which somehow failed to im- 
press his instructor properly; the other a dull, 
arbitrary affair that he went to without joy, 
but perseveringly enough so that the rep- 
utation he had made for himself as a chemist 
should not suffer. 

In a weak moment Jack confided the pur- 
port of those four warnings to Edie, who in 
consequence suffered for a few days under the 
burden of an outraged conscience, until she 
finally succumbed to her virtue. She let 
Jack know exactly what she thought he should 
do, and his opinion on the matter had no 
weight with her; she was deaf to all argument. 

“And if you don’t tell father and mother, 
I shall,” she had declared, “and if I tell I 
shall be a tale-bearer on account of you, and 
you,” she added, with sudden inspiration — 
“you’ll be worse; you’ll be a coward.” 

Jack asked to be allowed to think it over. 
He took the matter to Miskell, who suggested 
that he should compromise and own up to two 
of the warnings. 

“Latin and math,” figured Miskell, shrewd- 
ly. “You see, you can get some sympathy in 
163 


THE GREEN C 


those. Everybody’s bad in Latin, and if 
you have no head for math they may think 
you’re going to be a poet or something. Most 
of the really good authors couldn’t get the 
hang of figures at all. Look at Goldsmith.” 

Jack nodded vaguely, but he was not really 
comforted. The trouble was that he had not 
looked at Goldsmith all term, so these con- 
soling words meant nothing to him except 
that it would be worse than useless to try to 
assume the r61e of dreamy litterateur or absent- 
minded book-worm. 

Light came to Jack finally. Common sense, 
if not ethics, set him right. Four warnings are 
easier to own up to than four actual failures; 
and, after all, it was the easiest way of breaking 
the news of the doom that was to fall upon 
him when the marks were published in Feb- 
ruary. His scheming virtue was rewarded. 
He told the awful truth at table, supported 
by the adoring light in Edie’s eyes; and Emily 
became so agitated over the disgrace, as she 
called it, that his parents felt it their duty to 
be lenient with him, to keep the family poise 
at a decent average. Moreover, they could 
not help finding something humorous in such 
gruesome and wholesale bad scholarship. 

“It’s incredible!” declared Emily. “A boy 
of his age ought to have some slight under- 
164 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 


standing of his responsibilities. He ought to 
be made to see that life is a serious matter, 
and he has his duties. Now when I was 
fourteen — ” 

You’re a girl, ’ ’ rebutted Jack. 1 1 Girls never 
have anything to think of but their lessons.” 

This remark nearly lost him the support of 
Edie. 

Afterward, in the privacy of Edie’s room, 
where she was vainly endeavoring to do her 
lessons, Jack set forth his complicated and 
awe-inspiring plan of campaign. 

“ Hargrave, the history teacher, you know, 
is just dippy about maps. I can easily make 
him a map of Sparta or something. He’d 
give me an A on that, for effort, and it would 
boost up my mark a good deal. Then I’ll 
know my lesson a couple of times and pretend 
I’m not paying attention so he’ll call on me. 
He likes to try to catch the fellers napping. 
And,” he added, not without humility, “he’d 
never suspect that / would know enough to 
be able to give the right answer.” 

School work to Jack, as to many of his 
friends, was a game played with much finesse 
between scholar and teacher, with marks for 
the stakes. 

“Ought you to do that?” Edie tried to 
focus her wandering attention on her book. 

165 


THE GREEN C 


“Why not?” 

“You’d be deceiving him.” 

“I suppose I’m allowed to sit any way I 
want so long as I listen? Well, suppose I do 
choose to look up at the ceiling and sit this 
way — look” — he illustrated elaborately in a 
chair directly behind Edie, and insisted on 
drawing her from her work to regard it. “ See, 
I’ll just be staring up that way, sort of in- 
nocent.” 

“Oh, I don’t care what you do!” Edith 
bounced round to her books again impa- 
tiently. “Only for goodness’ sake let me do 
my lessons properly, so I won’t have to prac- 
tise how to fool my teachers into giving me 
good marks!” 

“I thought you were interested,” said Jack, 
rising with great effect. 

“I’d be interested enough if I thought you 
had any plan of learning your lessons de- 
cently,” answered Edie, primly, but with 
haste, sorry that she had let her temper 
nearly rob her of the chance to assist at Jack’s 
reformation. 

“Well, I shall be learning.” Jack paused at 
the door. “Won’t I have to know the work 
to be able to do that?” 

“And you won’t just study one or two 
answers?” 


166 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 


“No, of course not; I couldn't take that 
risk — and see here — ” Jack came back into 
the room and perched himself on the foot- 
board of Edie’s bed. “I’ve thought out a 
dandy way of doing the Latin, too. Hilton 
loves verbs — irregular ones. I’ll make out 
some beautiful synopses and bring them to 
him for correction. Or I’ll buy a blank-book 
and keep irregular verbs in it. He gives you 
credit when he thinks you’re trying, and I’m 
bound to learn my verbs if I write ’em a lot.’’ 

“Um,” said Edie, doubtfully, “I don’t un- 
derstand anything about Latin, but I can’t 
imagine even a dead language being all verbs.” 

“Of course not, but they’re the hardest part 
of it,” answered Jack, quickly; “and as for 
algebra, that’s easy. Every day there are two 
or three extra problems in the home-work, and 
you’d get credit for them if you did ’em.” 

“But you won’t let that take time from 
your regular home-work,” begged Edie. 

“Pooh! Nobody ever does the regular 
home-work.” 

“Then I think you ought to!” 

“What good would it do? They never call 
for it, and I can’t go and put it on his desk 
like extra work, expecting credit for it.” 

Edie gave up trying to find out what was 
rotten in the state of Denmark, as Jack went 
167 


THE GREEN C 

on, carried away by his own fluent inven- 
tiveness. 

“In English you can get credit for outside 
reading. We’re doing The Deserted Village 
now. I’ll find out some other of Goldsmith’s 
and read it. If we bring in a synopsis of 
another book it means a big A. And all I 
need is a couple of A’s in any subject. Now, 
let’s see, that’s English, Latin, history, and 
math. Chemistry I’m not a bit scared of, 
and music and art are safe, too. Now I’ll go 
and plan out how long I can put in on each 
subject. I’ll make out a programme and put 
it over my desk, and you can bet I’ll stick 
to it.” 

It must have afforded Jack tremendous 
artistic satisfaction to discover how his scheme 
of preoccupation drew fire from his history 
instructor at its first trial. Only it is most 
regrettable that, though the manoeuver was 
planned, the occasion was not, and Jack was 
really caught napping, dreaming of note-books 
and tablets to be purchased as ammunition 
in the onslaughts upon the good graces of his 
instructors. 

“Another zip,” he speculated, in the ver- 
nacular, as he took his seat. This simply 
means that he had wasted valuable time in 
the construction of the programme. “Well, 
168 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 


I’ll make a map of Crete for that, and color 
it so it ’ll look careful. Yes, sir.” He rose 
again, his face scarlet. 

“Can you repeat what Cameron just told 
us?” 

“No, sir; I didn’t hear very well,” stammered 
Jack, and beheld another mark go down beside 
his name. 

“Cameron, repeat it.” 

That is how Jack never forgot the laws of 
Solon. 

That afternoon he purchased a sheet of 
drawing-paper and a box of paints. At half 
past ten that night he knocked on Edie’s door 
and woke her out of her first sleep to admire 
the completed map of Crete, a giantesque affair, 
reminiscent in color of the pre-Raphaelites. 

Edie was not in the mood to appreciate 
esthetic geography. 

“How about your other lessons?” she 
yawned, a slave to morality. 

“ Chem is first hour. Then I have a study- 
hour to do my Latin in.” 

“Was this your history for to-morrow?” 

“We haven’t got history for to-morrow,” 
returned Jack, loftily. “Oh, say, wait till you 
see this in the morning!” Jack withdrew, dis- 
gusted at her lack of interest. “You’ll look 
up and take notice then!” 

169 


THE GREEN C 


The next morning it was he who looked 
up and took notice. Owing to the yellow 
gas-light, he had slipped into the natural 
error of coloring all the water on the map 
a violent emerald-green. 

It was a pity to waste so much map, so he 
took it to his instructor, but with a painful, 
apologetic attitude in place of the grand air 
of college benefactor he had intended to 
assume. It was not the hit it should have 
been. A vague plan arose in his mind for 
the drawing of a map twice its size. He de- 
termined to look up his history and find out 
one that would be appropriate and timely. 
The consequence was that he used up his 
study period in the perusal of his history, 
and Latin hour fell upon him at least thirty- 
five minutes before he expected it, smiting 
him with the sense of being completely hollow 
and heavily dented in the region of his 
stomach. 

His signal failure in the classics banished 
history from his thoughts, and that night, 
over his newly started verb-book, he dis- 
covered that there were several too many 
tenses and two too many modes in the lan- 
guage of ancient Rome. 

From this time on Jack’s life was full. He 
scarcely had time to admire his own work, 
170 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 


or to draw Edie’s attention to its merits. 
Even his study periods in school were devoted 
to the furtherance of his cunning designs, 
and what mattered a few poor zips in class 
when they readily could be overbalanced by 
volunteer A’s? 

Hargrave was inundated with ancient- 
history maps that went the cycle of the de- 
velopment of art from early Egyptian bril- 
liancy of color to the harmonious Japanesque 
effects of the school of Whistler. It puzzled 
Hargrave and flattered him. He was of an 
older generation, and as mercenary with 
marks as any of the boys he tried to teach. 
He paid for the maps lavishly with A’s. He 
began to see an interest on Jack’s part that 
had been imperceptible before. He often 
called on that person to volunteer in class, 
and half supplied the answer himself. 

Hilton, too, was touched by Jack’s effort 
to master Latin verbs. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having 
difficulty?” he asked. “Now, if we come to 
anything in class you don’t understand, let 
me know. I do like to see a boy try to get 
things for himself; but, after all, your master 
is here to help you.” 

And help he did. He called on Jack care- 
fully and tenderly, and gave him credit for 
171 


THE GREEN C 


the things he had been expected to know two 
months past. 

McNaughton, in mathematics, was frankly 
disturbed when Jack volunteered a problem 
and got it right. With the marks that 
trailed after Jack’s name in the day-book, 
this seemed nothing short of uncanny. Daily, 
thereafter, neat extra problems rested on his 
desk, showing that here was a student with 
a positive passion for numbers. McNaughton 
was essentially mathematical. When he got 
through giving Jack points for outside work, 
he found that Jack had more marks to his 
name than any other boy in the class, so he 
stopped calling on him for a while. 

It was only with English that Jack en- 
countered snags. Perhaps in the quieter days 
of our grandfathers, before the cheap abun- 
dance of the swift-moving heroes of five-cent 
literature, The Vicar of Wakefield was de- 
voured by eager boys in the proper spirit. 
Unfortunately, Jack missed all but the length 
of it. He counted pages assiduously, and so 
crept slowly through the eighth chapter. It 
was killing work. At times he was so dis- 
couraged that he would search the book- 
shelves for something else of the estimable 
Goldsmith, something shorter; but always 
he turned aside from attacking dramatic 
172 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 


form, while essay was quite out of the ques- 
tion. How he got to the end of the Vicar 
with so little skipping in time to get the 
coveted A for extra reading is one of the 
mysteries of his high-school career, and one 
of the “stunts” he boasted of all his life. 

It would have gone ill with Jack were it 
not for two things: first, no matter how little 
he was getting from the Vicar , it was more 
than any English he had done up till now, 
and, therefore, an improvement; and second, 
he was called on during a class symposium 
on the life of Goldsmith, and to his lot fell 
the question of what Goldsmith had written 
other than the poem read in class. None so 
well fitted to reply as he! Thus was English 
rescued in extremis . 

The fatal first of February, or Mark Day, 
came at last, and Jack left Edie at the accus- 
tomed comer with the insincere declaration 
that he’d be mighty surprised if he hadn’t 
flunked in at least two out of the seven sub- 
jects. Edie smiled wisely with the air of one 
not easily frightened. 

Half an hour later Jack was staring at his 
report-card with dropping jaw. At first glance 
he had perceived that one of the two pre- 
dicted failures was recorded among the luxu- 
riance of C’s, and the one poor straggling 
173 


12 


THE GREEN C 


B — in art. But it took several examinations, 
it took calculation with a ruler, it took the 
teacher’s irate, “No mistakes have been made 
by your instructors on your report-cards. 
Look a little nearer home, if they don’t 
satisfy you!” and even then Jack could not 
believe what his eyes beheld. 

In his mad scramble for marks he had been 
faithless to his beloved. He had dunked in 
chem! 

He found the desk of Peyton, the chemistry 
teacher, besieged with such as he himself, and 
the room full of boys with books, report-cards, 
and indignant, sheepish, sulky, or astonished 
faces. He remembered that he did not have 
his private chem-book with him, so the bril- 
liant idea came to him that he would go with 
it and interview Peyton in the evening, away 
from school matters, where he could talk to 
him as man to man. He would then tell 
him that he had elected chemistry as his 
life-work, and let him see how serious a matter 
this failure would be to him on that account. 

In the pale -blue twilight of five o’clock 
Jack descended upon the house of Peyton, 
a trembling and uncertain Jack, who had some 
difficulty in steering his feet and bringing 
them to a standstill on the awe-inspiring door- 
mat. The maid, a neat person with wary 
174 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 


eyes, permitted Jack to wait in the hall while 
she took his name up-stairs. 

“ Downing — er just say — er — one of his — 
er — his boys — students — in school — er — high 
school, you know/’ Jack had stammered, in 
agony, when she had demanded this necessary 
information. 

Mr. Peyton followed her down the stairs. 
He looked entirely different from the man be- 
hind the desk at school — younger, slighter, 
and disconcertingly sociable. Jack became 
conscious of his manners. 

“ Downing,” smiled Peyton. “Oh, you’re 
the chap with that handsome note-book.” He 
had caught sight of it in the crook of Jack’s 
arm. “I suppose you’re after more new stuff 
to put in it. Well, I’ve got a lot of books that 
will interest you up-stairs.” 

“Yes, sir.” Jack’s words felt hot and thick 
in his mouth. He followed the young man, 
clumsily tripping over the bottom step and 
knocking against the bannister with his heavy 
boots. Peyton led the way chatting blithely. 

“I should like to show you the books I 
have home,” he said. “I have a little labora- 
tory there, too. Do you think of specializing 
in chemistry?” 

“Ye — yes, sir. I like chemistry.” 

Peyton opened the door of his room, a cozy 
i75 


THE GREEN C 


place, glowing in the lamplight, full of a 
pleasing, scholar-like disorder, a faint odor 
of cigarettes and shoe-leather in the air. 

11 Sit down,” said Peyton, hospitably. “ Now 
let's have a good look at that note-book. I 
used to keep one myself — a bully thing to 
have, especially for reference when you quit 
school. But it's apt to cut into your regular 
work too much for me to approve of it as 
highly as I should like to be able to.” 

“Mr. Peyton” — Jack cleared his throat — 

< i j > » 

“Why, how is this?” exclaimed Peyton, 
deep in the note-book. “ Didn't I see all this 
last time? Where's your glass manufacturing? 
You can get the best sort of diagrams and 
notes on that. And you haven't finished this 
Welsbach light. We've taken up matches, 
too, haven't we? My dear boy, you haven't 
begun to put in the stuff we've been covering 
lately.” 

He rose and went to the book-case in search 
of a book. Jack's courage almost returned 
while the other's face was concealed. 

“Mr. Peyton — ” he hesitated. 

“Now,” said Peyton, genially, “look here; 
for pleasant, light chemistry get this book 
from the library.” He brought it to the table, 
and Jack could not help eyeing it with interest 
176 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 


as Peyton fluttered the leaves fascinatingly, 
and showed glimpses of just such diagrams 
and pictures as were the joy of Jack's heart. 
At an elaborate exposition of lithography and 
color-printing Jack forgot all about the object 
of his visit. 

Suddenly Jack heard a little bell strike in a 
queer clipped way four times. 

“What was that?" he asked, startled. 

“My clock," answered Peyton. 

“It struck four," declared Jack, incredu- 
lously. 

“That's six o'clock; it’s a ship’s clock," 
replied Peyton. 

Jack jumped up quickly. 

“Great Scott!" he exclaimed “I didn't 
mean to stay so long." 

“ Don't worry on my account — I enjoyed 
it," said Peyton. “I hope you'll come 
again." 

He smiled genially, but Jack did not see it; 
for suddenly he remembered what had brought 
him there, and it seemed as impossible as 
it was necessary to mention it now. 

“I — I came — to — " He swallowed what 
seemed to him to be his heart, that had got 
lodged in his throat. “I — I'm — I flunked in 
chemistry," he blurted out. 

“So you did! How on earth did that hap- 
177 


THE GREEN C 


pen?” Peyton looked as astonished and 
sympathetic as one of the boys. 

“I don’t know. Yes, I do. I had to quit 
studying chem, because I had a lot of other 
work to make up. I thought I was safe in 
chem,” he added, reproachfully. 

44 It’s a bad idea to quit studying anything,” 
said Peyton, placidly. “Well, you’ll pass off 
your condition with honors in June, though. 
And it will be some incentive for you to study 
it even though it isn’t on your programme next 
term. We’re so apt to drop things we don’t 
have to do, and it would be a pity for you to 
give up chemistry when you like it so much.” 

Jack stared. 

“You couldn’t — You know I know more 
about it than lots of the boys that did pass 
and — ” He felt Peyton’s eyes on him in a 
curious, steady look, so he came to a full stop 
and averted his head. 

“What are you studying for?” asked Pey- 
ton’s friendly voice. “Marks?” Jack was 
silent. “Because if you are,” went on Pey- 
ton, dryly, but without rancor, “ I never should 
have guessed it — from results. No, no,” he 
added, gently, “you needn’t be ashamed of 
your C’s if they’re all honest.” 

“You don’t think — ” blazed Jack. 

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t think of cheat- 
178 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 


in g. That's only one way. But is it strictly 
on the level to do only the thing you want to 
do till you have to drop it entirely in order 
to scramble through the work you ought to be 
doing all term? There's a lot of talk about the 
efficacy of the present school curriculum. Of 
course, it leaves much to be desired, but how 
are we to know just where it lacks if you ignore 
it altogether? Why, you don’t give us a fair 
show.” 

“I made up the work I lost,” mumbled 
Jack. 

"All of it?” 

"Well — ” Suddenly he thought of the 
maps, of the problems, of the verb-book, the 
Vicar . He rubbed his ear, and his sulkiness 
melted into a sheepish grin. "Gosh! It does 
seem funny I should flunk in the only subject I 
know anything about!” 

Edie, returning at half past four and finding 
that Jack had just left the house, having said 
nothing of how he had fared at school to the 
forgetful elders, endured two hours of exqui- 
site torture seeing Jack despondently throw- 
ing himself in the lake, running away to a 
life of vagabondage, or, insane with remorse, 
wandering witless through the town. It was 
she who opened the door when he rang the 
179 


THE GREEN C 


'bell, and she beheld his radiant face with a 
shock of anger. 

‘ ‘ Jackie !’ * she exclaimed. ‘ 1 What happened ? 
How did you do?” 

“Awful,” answered Jack, cheerfully. 

“You flunked them all!” cried Edie. 

“No, only chem.” 

“Chemistry!” Edie could not believe that 
she had heard aright, but Jack showed her the 
indisputable evidence of his report-card. 4 ‘ Oh, 
Jackie, with your note-book! Why don’t you 
show it to him? He may change it for you; 
why, you ought to get two or three extra A’s 
for all those beautiful drawings — ” 

“I did show it to him.” 

“You did! And didn’t he— ” 

“Nope, and I didn’t ask for it. I don’t 
want it. I’m sorry now I got them for all 
those other things. And I’m never going to 
try for good marks again.” 

“Jackie!” Edie almost shrieked at his 
heresy. 

“They’re disgusting.” Jack warmed up 
to his subject. “They ought to be abol- 
ished.” 

“You’re talking like a little baby now.” 
Edie calmed herself and spoke loftily. “How 
would we know how we were doing at school 
if we didn’t have marks?” 

180 


THE MARK OF A SCHOLAR 


“We might have to think about it a little, ” 
suggested Jack, smoothly. 

Edie wanted to cry in her discouragement. 
She felt that Jack was a lost sheep, but she 
could not find herself to blame in any way. 


XII 


THE NEW GAME 

A BOUT this time an enthusiastic relative 
L sent Jack a book which was to have its 
own special influence upon his career — a slim, 
yellow-bound book with a stirring picture on 
the cover, containing information on the sub- 
ject that was firing the imagination of the 
youth of two great nations. 

Jack was inspired to become a Boy Scout. 
The study of this book promised to inter- 
fere with the even tenor of Jack’s existence. 
The new-born zest for his lessons with which 
he had begun the second term began to droop 
and wane. Chemistry itself faded in the more 
alluring light of scouting. Even the call of 
the green C became a little smothered and 
less persistent. Camp life and its promise of 
regenerating the world gripped him. He de- 
termined that spring should see him return to 
nature with the holy ecstasy that had been 
quenched too long. 

He showed the book to Miskell one after- 

182 


THE NEW GAME 


noon, and they talked it over together. Mis- 
kell was not so easily inflamed. 

“We've got to get organized," said he, see- 
ing the obstacles first. “And for that we need 
a scout master. Do you know of any around 
here?" 

Jack was obliged to admit he did not. 

“We could write and find out for sure," he 
added, with hope. 

“Letters are a sort of nuisance," said 
Miskell, doubtfully. 

“Well, we could learn the laws and every- 
thing now and get into practice, and write 
when the spring comes. We’ll be all the more 
ready then, and we won’t have to be tender- 
feet for any length of time." 

Miskell tried to look as if he liked this plan. 
Personally he felt he had enough laws to obey 
and things to learn for his high school without 
burdening himself further. Jack was busy 
turning over the leaves of the book, and 
stopped at his favorite passages. 

“The Morse code, for example," he said, 
eagerly. 1 1 That’s something everybody ought 
to know. Just suppose you got locked in a 
safe. You could hammer on it and say 'Let 
me out,’ and even give the combination so’s 
it could be opened for you." 

“You mightn’t know the combination," 
183 


THE GREEN C 


said the pessimistic Miskell, passing over the 
possibility of his ever being struck with a 
mad impulse to get into a safe and thus put 
himself wilfully in the way of peril. "Be- 
sides” — he thought of something still more 
discouraging — "what good would it do unless 
the feller on the outside knew the Morse 
code, too?” 

"That's just it!” Jack snapped up this 
point in the argument like a puppy pouncing 
on a biscuit. "Doesn't that prove what I 
say? It's everybody’s duty to know it.” 

For a moment the conference threatened 
to degenerate into a debate on the advisabil- 
ity of teaching the code in the public schools. 
The whole nation seemed in imminent danger 
of becoming shut up in safes with no pos- 
sibility of rescue. Miskell concluded it would 
be a good plan, after all, to arm himself 
against frightful emergencies by mastering it. 
They determined to work it up together, and, 
having settled this, they returned to the sub- 
ject in hand. 

"You see, that shows you how fine this 
Boy Scout business is,” said Jack. "And 
that’s only one of the things you have to 
learn. Look, here’s a page of knots!” 

He exhibited a plate that made Miskell 
dizzy to contemplate. 

184 


THE NEW GAME 


“ That's worse than algebra/’ he declared. 

Jack was hunting about for string. 

“Let’s see how many we can do,” he pro- 
posed, with ardent enthusiasm. “You have 
to be able to tie four before you can be even 
a tenderfoot, you know. And you have to 
be able to make ’em in the dark.” 

“Why do you suppose they make you learn 
to tie knots?” asked Miskell, watching Jack 
struggle with an open book balanced on his 
knees, trying to twist the flimsy red string 
into some semblance of the most complicated 
knot on the page. 

“Suppose you had to escape from a win- 
dow; would you know how to knot the bed- 
sheets safely after you had tom them into 
strips?” 

“It mightn’t be the bedroom,” answered 
Miskell, evasively. 

“You’re dodging, because you know you 
wouldn’t,” said Jack, not without good rea- 
son. “There are lots of cases where a knot, 
badly tied, might cost a man his life.” 

“What, for instance?” Miskell became in- 
terested. 

“Oh, bunches of cases.” For the life of 
him Jack could recall none just now save 
the extraordinary dilemma he had cited to 
begin with. He had given up the string, and 
185 


THE GREEN C 


was looking through the book again. “I 
suppose you can’t think of a case where you’d 
have to find your latitude, either?” 

Miskell could not, and Jack read aloud the 
directions in the book, and so stumbled on 
the sentence in which the author agreed with 
Miskell. This only quenched Jack for a 
few seconds, however. 

“Well, nothing could be more important 
than the laws,” he said, taking his stand on 
the redoubtable ground of ethics. Honor, 
duty, loyalty, these crashing virtues broke 
Miskell’s weak resistance, and he was whirled, 
protesting, into the fascinating game. 

They held to their decision to practise the 
essentials, like the Morse code, the making 
of knots, and the observance of the laws, and 
did not yet take any direct step toward join- 
ing formally. They felt the summer was time 
enough for that, when lessons would be less 
pressing and camping would be more of a 
possibility. 

The Morse code came hard. Somehow, 
though youths delight in secret alphabets, 
that of the inventor of telegraphy seems to 
lack human appeal. Jack stuck at it with a 
perseverance that would have amazed his 
instructors. Miskell broke down when the 
telegraph-operator at the station laughed at 
186 


THE NEW GAME 

many of his letters, and wrote down what he 
declared was the original and authentic alpha- 
bet taught by Mr. Morse himself. The dis- 
couraging differences drove Jack to the Myer 
wig- wagging system; but here Miskell, al- 
ways less ardent upon these matters, openly 
struck. 

“No,” he said, “I’ve put in enough time 
on it. I’ve flunked twice in Latin this week, 
and something tells me it is time to swear 
off. Maybe in the summer,” he added, at the 
sight of Jack's disappointment. “When we 
can go out into the open somewhere, and 
really can use little flags to signal with, we’d 
be more interested and learn it easier.” 

Some of the laws, too, caused them slight 
uneasiness. 

“A scout,” says the yellow book, “smiles 
and looks pleasant under all circumstances.” 
Under particularly trying difficulties, it rec- 
ommends that “you should force yourself to 
smile at once, and then whistle a tune, and 
you will be all right.” 

Miskell, who was unable to whistle under 
any circumstances whatever, felt that here he 
might at last withdraw as one unqualified. 
But Jack, after some thought, came to the con- 
clusion that humming a tune would do just 
as well, for the present anyway. When they 
187 


THE GREEN C 


were ready to be enrolled officially, they would 
inquire into the matter further. He admon- 
ished Miskell to try to acquire this accom- 
plishment, in case it should turn out to be 
one of the important requisites when they 
sent in their applications. 

Lastly, they discovered the thriftiness of a 
scout is a hard matter to live up to. Jack 
had reason to believe that it would be neces- 
sary to join the organization on pay-day in 
order to have the looked-for quarter in the 
savings-bank to hand. 

After a while it came to Jack that, as there 
was no scout master in the vicinity, and no 
other volunteers, it might be difficult to form 
a patrol. When he told this to Miskell the 
latter showed a surprising alacrity in accept- 
ing it as a final doom to the whole move- 
ment. 

“We should have thought of that before,” 
he said. “We’ve wasted a lot of time by not 
being bright enough to reason that out. The 
best thing we can do is to quit fooling about it, 
till they open a branch here.” 

“But how are they going to know we want 
one?” queried Jack. 

Miskell shrugged his shoulders. He was 
quite the last person to ask this question. 

The remedy came to Jack in the middle of 
188 


THE NEW GAME 


the night, and set him broad awake, beaming 
in the dark. Converts! 

There were Salle and Cameron and Jennings, 
and any number to choose from. He was not 
at all sure of Cartwright. In fact, he had a 
healthy dread of Cartwright’s contempt in 
the matter. But once he had a little band 
— say eight — semi-trained, it would be only 
proper and natural that they should elect him 
patrol leader. Miskell could be corporal. Mis- 
kell was not taking the movement seriously 
enough, and perhaps the election to an office 
of trust and distinction might change him in 
this respect. Jack lay still and glowed all 
over at the thought of what this meant. He 
knew his rules well. A patrol leader has 
charge for a year, a glorious year of captaining 
a gang, training them and teaching them all 
the invaluable knowledge his beloved yellow 
book had taught to him. He planned turn- 
ing his room into a club-room, if he could get 
his mother to consent. He thought out the 
summer camp. He decided what honors the 
members of his patrol would win. He tasted 
the parental joy of having his men gain glory 
under his guidance and inspiration. Person- 
ally he looked forward to getting his points 
by means of a camera. The chemical part 
of photography was so alluring. He would 
13 189 


THE GREEN C 


save up for a decent-sized kodak with a good 
lens. He had always wanted one, and now 
that there was particular use for it, his desire 
became almost a passion. He fell asleep and 
dreamed that he was leading a heroic little 
band of Boy Scouts to their death, while 
Cartwright looked on and hooted. 

The next day he told Miskell of this splen- 
did plan to enlarge their corps, and Miskell 
took to it with the air of one who sees his last 
hope of escape gone forever. His attitude 
would have dampened the ardor of any one 
but Jack. 

“How can we ask ’em to join the Boy 
Scouts, when we’re not Boy Scouts ourselves 
yet?” he inquired, chillingly. 

“We needn’t put it that way,” Jack re- 
plied. “It’s just a sort of club for boys who 
want to become scouts. All we need to do is 
to get them interested.” 

“How?” 

“First by just talking it over. Ask ’em 
if they know the Morse code — or — or” — the 
look in Miskell’ s eye warned him away from 
this particular topic — “or anything. You 
could start out by tying knots.” 

“In what?” 

“Oh, I don’t know! Say, Misk, don’t you 
want to do it at all?” Contrary to certain 
190 


THE NEW GAME 


rules, Jack began to feel wrath smoldering 
within him. 

“Sure, I want to. Or I would if I knew 
what I was doing,” replied Miskell. “I’m 
only asking how you begin. Just show me on 
some one.” 

“All right. How about Cameron? I’ll 
have him with us in two days. You just 
watch.” 

Such is the power of enthusiasm that he 
was able to make good his promise. Cameron 
succumbed easily, first to Jack’s diplomatic 
talk of books, leading through books on sport 
to camp life and the thoughts of distant 
summer, so gradually to Boy Scouts and the 
fun they have. 

“ If we only had the proper number of fellers 
who were willing to join, we might get up a 
patrol and apply for the right to organize. It 
would be great,” said Jack. 

“How many must there be in a patrol?” 
asked Cameron. 

Jack told him, and they commenced figur- 
ing together which of the other members of the 
class they would care to have as associates. 

It went so easily that Miskell’s spirit of 
competition was aroused. He decided on 
Salle for his victim, the lazy-eyed, gentle- 
voiced Louisiana boy to whom outdoor 
191 


THE GREEN C 


sports and exercises had little or no appeal. 
Miskell proceeded on Jack’s plan, having 
thorough confidence in its effects. He spoke 
of books, with the result that Salle would 
speak of nothing else. Every time Miskell 
tried to make a connection with the subject 
of camping and athletics Salle would turn 
back the conversation as one turns back the 
hands on a clock. For example, Salle would 
be waxing enthusiastic over Edgar Allan Poe. 

‘‘Yes, but books ought to be read by the 
light of a camp-fire,” Miskell would say, 
without the proper conviction. 

“Did you ever try to read by firelight?” 
demanded Salle. “You’d be blind in a week 
if you weren’t roasted straight through. 
But, say! Try reading The Murders in the 
Rue Morgue at night in your own room when 
every one else is asleep in bed — that will make 
your skin creep!” 

“Great,” said Miskell, limply. 

“Or The Masque of the Red Death , or The 
Tell-tale Heart . Haven’t you read any of 
Poe’s at all?” So he would drag Miskell 
through the sloughs of literary ignorance, 
and they would be no nearer the real issue 
than when they started out. 

He reported his failure to Jack, who shook 
his head at him pityingly. 

192 


THE NEW GAME 


“You poor boob,” he exclaimed, “to begin 
on Salle with books!” 

Miskell smiled at him sunnily, and Jack 
glanced over his shoulder to see whom he was 
greeting thus, but there was no one there. 

“What would you begin on if you were 
tackling Salle?” inquired Miskell. 

“I? I’d use a little common sense, and not 
start a feller off on the one subject he’s ab- 
solutely nutty over,” answered Jack, again 
glancing over his shoulder at the galvanic 
reinforcement of Miskell’s grin. 

“You haven’t said yet what is your idea of a 
sensible subject.” Miskell’s cheerfully con- 
torted face, together with the impatience in 
his voice, began to get on Jack’s nerves. 

“I can’t say, just offhand,” he said, irri- 
tably, “but I’ll bet I could get Salle easy in no 
time. What in thunder are you grinning at, 
anyway?” he exploded, unable to stand Mis- 
kell’s impertinent look any longer. 

Miskell merely started to hum absently, as 
though he were quite at ease with his con- 
science and prayed others might be the same. 
It was a harmless enough procedure, but it 
had a most insulting effect. It ended when the 
exasperated Jack grasped him forcibly by the 
arm with one hand and planted the other 
firmly and without gentleness over his mouth. 
193 


THE GREEN C 


They broke loose and fell to. When they 
parted for breath Miskell's lip was bleed- 
ing and Jack's knuckles were broken and 
sore. 

“What in blazes did you shove your dirty 
hand down my throat for?” demanded Mis- 
kell, between gasps. 

“To shut you up, you confounded music- 
box. What do you think I did it for? To 
feel what kind of teeth you have?" panted 
Jack, wrathfully. 

“You've got a nerve!" cried Miskell, bit- 
terly. “First you tell me to do something, 
and when I do it you go and push my face in. 
You know very well I can't whistle. What 
do you suppose I found to sing or grin at, with 
you ragging the life out of me? It was only 
because I promised I'd try it. Well, you 
don't catch me trying it again. Look at 
there." He held out his blood-stained hand- 
kerchief to the remorseful Jack. 

“Oh, say, Misk," he said, shamefacedly, 
“I’m mighty sorry. Honest! I didn’t real- 
ize. I kind of thought you were mocking me 
or something. Really. I beg your pardon." 
He said the difficult words bravely. He was 
not to be outdone in chivalry by his own pros- 
pective corporal. 

“That's all right" — Miskell uncomfortably 

194 


THE NEW GAME 


took the battered hand extended to him — 
“only I was sort of — surprised.” 

When Jack made good his boast and won 
Salle over, Miskell agreed that not only was 
there something in the whole movement, 
but Jack was a bom leader among men. 
Jack modestly attributed his conquests to 
the virtue of the game, but inwardly he felt 
there was much in what Miskell said. Mean- 
time Cameron had persuaded his seat-mate, 
a boy named Klein, to join, and it needed 
but one other to make a full patrol. Miskell 
was in favor of Jack’s trying for Cartwright’s 
support. After the Salle affair Jack seemed 
to him irresistible; but Jack himself realized 
that he had certain limitations. Cartwright 
would be valuable because he was a power in 
the class on account of his knowledge of high- 
school technic, gathered from the elder brother 
he talked of so frequently. But Jack felt 
that should Cartwright join he might have 
to dispute his leadership. 

“But don’t you see,” said Miskell, who was 
always a little afraid of Cartwright’s irony, 
“he can do such a lot of mischief making 
fun of us, and perhaps turning the other 
boys against us that way.” 

“All right,” Jack agreed, at last. “But 
we’ve got to get a good start of him first, or 
i95 


THE GREEN C 


he’ll be trying to run things. We want to 
have a lot to teach him to keep him in his 
place.” 

One morning Jack realized that the time 
to speak to Cartwright was at hand. The 
end of February had been singularly mild, 
with a number of springy days that hinted 
at the approach of the camping season. The 
boys had profited by his teaching, and were 
in a fair state of organization, far enough 
ahead of Cartwright to make him understand 
that he was a beginner in their midst. 

Miskell stood by to watch Jack’s marvel- 
ous powers of persuasion take their course. 
Jack was a little nervous. 

“Say, Cartwright,” he began, “a lot of us 
fellers think of going camping this summer 
for a couple of weeks, and we think it would 
be kind of nice to start a club for it now.” 
He launched into the attractive details, grow- 
ing warmer and more convincing when he 
saw Cartwright was listening with interest. 
“Now,” concluded Jack, “there are five of 
us so far — Miskell, Cameron, Salle, Klein, and 
myself. We’d like you to join if you’d care 
about it.” 

“Well” — Cartwright put ' his books into 
his desk, slowly and systematically; Miskell 
quivered with curiosity — “I think that’s a 
196 


THE NEW GAME 


pretty fascinating sort of stunt, and I’d like 
very much to join, only I haven’t really got 
the time.” 

“ You’ve got just as much time as we have,” 
answered Jack. 

“Yes and no,” said Cartwright. “You 
see, it’s this way. I’m going out for baseball 
this spring. I might be called on to sub- 
stitute. That’s the way my brother made his 
letter in his freshman year.” 

Miskell saw Jack start and stare. A sense 
of hopelessness filled him at the thought of 
hours and energy wasted upon matters that 
must come to naught. For as he watched 
he saw, clearly as though Jack’s thoughts were 
written out for him in fire, the patrol leader 
was vanishing, and in his place there was 
returning the ambitious student aiming for 
his C. 


XIII 


GRAHAM TAKES HIS CHANCE 

"OAY, Downing/’ said Miskell, about a 

^ week later, seating himself on the turf 
beside Jack in the field, where they had 
been practising ball, " what’s happened to 
Bub Stanton?” 

4 'What do you mean?” demanded Jack, 
startled. "Is there anything the matter 
with him?” 

"No, nothing like that. Only, I was think- 
ing, you don’t see him any more.” Miskell 
was tossing the ball from hand to hand, as if 
he had a great deal more to say. 

"Yes, I do,” answered Jack, vaguely. 

"Not as much as you used to,” argued 
Miskell. 

"No, not quite. But he’s sort of busy now, 
and I’ve been busy, too.” 

"Well, listen; do you know what I was 
thinking?” Miskell spoke haltingly. 

"What?” 

"You’ve put in a lot of time on the Boy 
198 


GRAHAM TAKES HIS CHANCE 


Scout business, an’ so have I, an’ I hate to 
give it all up so easy. Now, if we could sort 
of — well, if we could — you see — Bub Stanton 
means a whole lot to the school here, and 
if—” 

“You mean we ought to try to get Bub to 
join us?” 

“Yes. You could.” Miskell’s confidence 
in Jack for the first time awed and amazed 
even Jack himself. 

“No, Misk,” he said, after a pause; “we 
haven’t exactly got time for that sort of thing 
just now — with baseball coming on like this.” 

“Is he on the team?” 

“He sure is. He played first base last 
year.” 

“I didn’t know that. Then I guess you’re 
right. It’s no go.” 

The two boys sat in silence for some time, 
gazing pensively at the ground. It had been 
difficult for Jack to rouse in Miskell the proper 
flame of enthusiasm, but once it had come 
into being it was not easy to quench. Miskell 
had put himself out to learn a number of new 
things, and he hated to feel that his energy 
had been consumed for nothing. His sugges- 
tion to elect Bub Stanton as a member of the 
patrol was the result of deep thought on his 
part. It had seemed to him an idea worthy 

199 


THE GREEN C 


of the strategic Jack, himself, since it would 
establish the little club for good, even in the 
face of Cartwright’s indifference. And it 
must be confessed that Miskell longed for 
some sort of victory with which to call 
down the supercilious Cartwright. Jack’s too 
ardent teaching had caused him to set Boy 
Scouting above even baseball, and it was 
disturbing now to have to change his mind on 
the subject. Of course, Bub, being on the 
team, would have the more popular point of 
view. A new train of thought awakened 
suddenly. 

“Say, Down,” he exclaimed, “it might help 
you some, having him on the team like that, 
mightn’t it?” 

“I never thought of that!” Jack stared at 
him, bright-eyed. “I dare say it will help — 
some.” 

“It sounds pretty good to me,” grinned 
Miskell. “Is Graham on the team, too?” 

“Yes, so’s Tin Pan Cauldwell. He’ll be 
captain, I hear” — Jack spoke half atten- 
tively, then rose with a quick movement and 
faced Miskell — “but see here, Misk, I don’t 
want to get on by pull.” 

“I guess you couldn’t even if you wanted 
to,” returned Miskell. “They’re too straight. 
I only thought maybe they could give you 
200 


GRAHAM TAKES HIS CHANCE 


tips on how to play, and it doesn't hurt to 
have them your friends, anyway. I don't 
think it's fair to drop them the way you 
have." 

“Don't worry. I haven't dropped them, 
and they won't drop me either. Now stand 
here a while, old sock, and let me sting ’em 
in to you from that tree over there, will you? 
Fast ones — it's getting sort of chilly." 

Jack thought over Miskell's words as he 
stood pitching from under the tree, and he 
thought of them again that night. Miskell 
was right, unpleasant as it seemed. He was 
drifting away from Bub Stanton, and the rest 
of his senior friends, in his absorption over 
Boy Scouts and marks and other freshman 
matters. He determined to correct this. It 
was natural that his repentant mind should 
call up chemistry among the other matters he 
had been neglecting of late — chemistry, the 
subject which had had its hand in bringing 
about his comradeship with the fascinating 
Bub. He recalled the details of their first 
talk together that famous November day on 
their tramp in search of chestnuts. They 
had spoken of Professor Marshfield. A blind- 
ing inspiration came to Jack as he remembered 
how Professor Marshfield had once invited 
him to come and help himself to apples. He 
201 


THE GREEN C 


decided to write to the professor begging to 
be allowed, not to rifle his orchards, but to 
look through his famous laboratory with a 
friend, who desired to share the honor of such 
a visit. 

He could not wait till morning to set down 
the letter his imagination framed so com- 
pletely and elegantly, lying there in bed. He 
arose, lit the gas, and drew up the first of the 
six drafts he was to make before the 
elaborate epistle read to his thorough satis- 
faction. He posted it late the following 
afternoon. 

A few days after the professor's courteous 
though somewhat wordy answer came, leav- 
ing Jack still in doubt whether he would be 
pleased to have them come or preferred not to 
be bothered. When Jack mastered the writ- 
ing, he made out that the professor was de- 
claring himself “a recluse, rather unsifted in 
such perilous circumstance, and, therefore, 
with doubts concerning the genuine pro- 
fundity of youthful philosophy, but preju- 
diced under the present circumstances by 
Jack’s unusually mature request.” Out of 
this wild medley of sounds Jack pounced on 
“ prejudiced,” and it was not to him a cordial- 
sounding word. His father, however, trans- 
lated the letter for him, and Jack delightedly 
202 


GRAHAM TAKES HIS CHANCE 


waited for a chance to pass on his invitation 
to Bub. It came a short time later, after 
school. 

“Say, Bub,” he began, casually, feeling 
for the first time how far apart they had 
drifted by the fact that it was difficult to 
address him in this offhand manner, es- 
pecially when there was another senior whom 
he did not know standing by. “Would this 
interest you at all?” He handed him the 
professor’s letter. 

“Great snakes!” Stanton was genuinely 
amazed at the handwriting. “Is it hiero- 
glyphics?” 

“No; I don’t mean the writing. I mean 
what it says,” explained Jack. “You’ve got 
to sort of half shut your eyes and read fast 
or you’ll never get it,” he added. 

“Maybe it would help to put it in a zeo- 
trope,” proposed Bub’s companion. 

“Wait!” cried Bub, triumphantly. “I’ve 
found something — ■ My dear — ’ Is this you?” 

“Yes,” answered Jack. “Maybe I’d bet- 
ter read it for you. I’ve had practice.” 

In the midst of a very complicated sentence 
which, if the truth were told, Jack did not 
read with special intelligence, the seniors 
stopped him with a howl. 

“ Browning!” yelled Bub. “I recognize the 

203 


THE GREEN C 


style of Sordello. A Browning manuscript, or 
I’m a sinner!” 

“ Browning?” repeated Jack, bewildered. 

“Yes; Robert, the poet — he writes like 
that.” 

“It isn’t poetry.” Jack looked a little dis- 
tressed. “It’s just a letter from Professor 
Marshfield — ” 

“Marshfield!” Bub Stanton seized it. 
“Well, I’m dashed. Marshfield? — the old 
duck with the laboratory — our Marshfield?” 

“Yes.” Jack was encouraged by his ex- 
cited manner. 

! “Are you sure?” Stanton was trying to 
make out the signature in which the professor 
had concentrated all his efforts to disguise the 
English alphabet. 

“Yes,” replied Jack, “it’s an answer to one 
I wrote him.” 

“Then it’s really addressed to you?” Jack 
nodded. “What does he say?” 

Jack reached out his hand for it. 

[ “I’ll read it—” 

“No! You tried that before. Just tell us. 
You’ve got us worked up about it now.” 

Jack told them, and Bub Stanton chortled in 
his glee. 

“Oh, you Jackie!” he cried. “You’re a 
gem, you’re a jewel, you’re a lamb! You bet 
204 


GRAHAM TAKES HIS CHANCE 


I’ll go with you. I’ve been waiting to get my 
nose into his old diggings ever since he built 
them there — before I was bom. Oh! wheel 
They say he has a monoplane out there, half 
done, and that he’s got a new scheme for run- 
ning it with a composition of radium. And 
they say he can transmute metals, and, oh, 
they’ve got a bunch of fairy tales about him. 
It’s one of the best private laboratories in the 
world. Did you ever see radium, Hoxley?” 
“No.” 

“Well, we’re going to. Say, I didn’t know 
you were as intimate as that with him. You 
just told me you’d been out there once.” 
Bub turned to Jack. “Were you in the 
laboratory at all?” 

“Oh no; that was before I knew anything 
about chemistry,” said Jack. “I’d have 
walked through like a dub.” 

“How’d you have the nerve to write to 
him?” 

So the whole beautiful story was rehearsed. 
They made a date to ride out on their wheels 
on the coming Saturday, if the weather re- 
mained mild. Hoxley, the other senior, 
openly envied them, and Jack’s importance 
swelled. 

“All right, I’ll let him know, then, Bub,” 
said Jack, in good-by, having no trouble to 
14 205 


THE GREEN C 

be friendly and familiar now. “So long till 
then.” 

On Saturday Jack called at Stanton’s house, 
dressed appropriately to the occasion and ac- 
companied by his wheel. The day was fine, 
and the roads were in excellent condition, moist- 
ened by a fall of rain on the previous day, not 
wet enough to be muddy except in the ditches. 

Stanton appeared, looking equally natty 
and business-like, with his white sweater 
newly cleaned so that the green C seemed 
to shine out on its snowy ground. In fact, 
their appearance awed one another at first, 
and they rode along side by side rather 
silently for a while, except for occasional 
polite observations as to the road or the 
weather. In this way they left the town be- 
hind them and struck into the Marshfield run, 
where every tree and bush, bare now, recalled 
to Jack that ride with Mr. Carrington. Be- 
fore he knew it he was describing him to Bub, 
and giving samples of his theories. That, 
Jack said, was what induced him to leave the 
ball in the laboratory. 

“It does look like fate,” continued Jack, 
pensively. “Everything of importance that 
I’ve done lately seems to lead to chemistry. 
I feel that to-day I shall know just how much 
it’s going to mean in my life.” 

206 


GRAHAM TAKES HIS CHANCE 


Hello !” exclaimed Stanton, suddenly. 
“ What’s that?” 

They heard the sound of shouting in the 
distance, and the heartrending yelp of a hurt 
dog. As they turned a tree-sheltered curve 
they saw, a short way off, a tall man sud- 
denly release a dog he was maltreating and 
turn upon a smaller man who rushed in 
to meet the attack. Both boys quickened 
their speed with an instinct to interfere in so 
unequal a match. The larger man seemed 
to shower blow after blow on the smaller 
without any effect. The other defended him- 
self valiantly, but could do nothing in the 
way of attack, and it would be only a matter 
of seconds before he would weaken under 
the treatment he was receiving. The subject 
of the dispute, a bony, ragged cur, crawled 
to a near-by stone, where he shivered and 
cowered, furtively licking at the blood the 
cruel welts of his assailant's stick had brought 
forth. Bub and Jack came up just in time 
to see the larger man suddenly seize the 
other's wrist and force him to the ground, 
then raise his fist for a final blow upon the 
unprotected head. 

Stanton was not so tall as the man who 
was getting the worst of it, and Jack was even 
smaller; but they wasted no time over this 
207 


THE GREEN C 


thought, putting their whole faith in num- 
bers. They swung clear of their wheels and 
closed in. “You go at him from the front; 
I’ll grab his arms,” Stanton panted to Jack. 
"Make for his stomach and wind him, if 
you can.” 

The heavy hand had descended, and was 
raised again. They saw the man on the 
ground, though apparently giddy with the 
loss of blood, still held his nerve, and was now 
trying to throw the other by twining his 
arms about his legs. Jack set his teeth and 
ran in, tripping over the fallen body. He 
landed squarely upon the tyrant’s abdomen 
at the same time Bub seized him from the 
rear and pulled him backward. They all 
fell together in one writhing heap, and strug- 
gled thus three to one. At last Bub flung 
himself bodily across the huge chest of the 
common foe, and Jack and the third devoted 
themselves to his feet, and so they all rested, 
panting heavily. 

“I can manage him now, Downing. Just 
see if you can’t find a rope. There are old 
clothes-poles back of the shack there, some- 
where.” He whom they had rescued was 
speaking in a familiar voice, and they stared 
at him, astonished. It was Graham, impossible 
to recognize through all the blood and dirt. 

208 


GRAHAM TAKES HIS CHANCE 


" Well, I’ll be blowed!” gasped Bub. " You!” 

"Me,” answered Graham, succinctly. "Go 
on, Down, quit your staring. We need that 
rope.” 

Jack left in a daze. Somehow his mind re- 
volved about the figure of Graham in the gym, 
seemingly ages ago, wishing for the chance 
to prove himself. His heart leaped joyfully. 
He was glad they would be able to see a token 
of Graham’s courage now. 

He woke from his dreaming and looked 
around for the rope. He was on a little de- 
serted farm consisting of a couple of vacant 
weather-beaten shanties with broken windows, 
and whose idle doors hung crookedly half 
open. Near by, as Graham had predicted, 
were bent and splintered poles, with mournful 
streamers of rain-blackened rope depending 
from them. Jack cut and knotted these, 
wondering why he had been unable to cite 
such an occasion as this to Miskell to prove 
how a badly made knot might result in death. 
He was a bit nervous about the sort of knot 
to make. Was it the time for the reef, the 
fisherman, or the binder? He tried all three. 

"What kept you?” asked Bub, when he 
returned. "Couldn’t you find any?” 

"Yes, but it was all in bits,” Jacked flushed. 
"I had to piece it.” 


209 


THE GREEN C 


When they tied up the victim, who, with 
the return of his breath, kept up a violent 
stream of profanity, Jack insisted upon in- 
specting all the knots, and passed them all, 
finding himself less expert than he had 
thought in detecting the wrong kind. 

“Now listen, kid,” said Graham; “take 
your wheel and go to the nearest house and 
ask if you can telephone for a policeman. 
Only be a heap sight quicker than you were 
about the rope, or we won’t be able to hold 
him. Tell the people of the house what 
happened, and they’ll be glad to let you.” 

“Remember we’re here sitting on him till 
you get back,” put in Stanton; “and not only 
is he making a beastly noise, but he’s bumpy 
and uncomfortable. And say, maybe we’d 
better call off Professor Marshfield, too. 
We can’t go in this state.” He looked from 
his own muddy and dilapidated finery to 
Jack’s. “Tell him what happened. We prob- 
ably will have to go to the station-house with 
this chap.” 

“And hit it up!” warned Graham, again. 

“You can trust me.” Jack ran his wheel 
out into the road, and, mounting, sped off. 
The nearest house boasting a telephone was 
considerably over a mile away, and its in- 
habitants, upon whom Jack burst so uncere- 


210 


GRAHAM TAKES HIS CHANCE 


moniously, were interested beyond measure 
in the story he had to tell. Each member of 
the family had a recollection of a similar 
experience, and after he had ’phoned Jack 
thought he would never be able to get away. 
Finally two men and a boy belonging to the 
household declared their intention of accom- 
panying Jack back, and this company swelled 
to a small army before they had gone very 
far. Jack in advance, politely riding his 
wheel at a walking pace, suddenly spied two 
familiar figures far ahead, one trundling a 
wheel, and the other holding something in 
his arms. There was no sign of a prisoner, 
however, and the two were plainly coming 
toward them up the road. Jack bent over 
his pedals, and, leaving his little band behind, 
soon came up to his friends. 

“Say!” was Graham’s alarmed exclamation, 
as he nodded down the road over the dis- 
reputable body of the trembling dog he 
carried. “We didn’t send you ahead to get 
up a parade.” 

“I didn’t do that; They just came,”* 
answered Jack. “I’ve sent for a constable,' 
and he’s coming when they can find him. 
But what did you do with him?” 

“The real question,” answered Bub, “is 
what he did with us.” 


2 1 1 


THE GREEN C 


“The ropes were rotten and busted,” ex- 
plained Graham. 

“The knots! Did they come undone?” 
gasped Jack. 

“Oh no; they held beautifully.” Bub’s eye 
twinkled. “You see, we were just sitting on 
him quietly, chinning easy and sociably above 
his cussing, when he just got up and shook us 
off of him and legged it.” 

“He got away?” 

“Oh, we could spare him.” 

“What will they say?” Jack pointed to 
the advancing crowd. “Suppose they get 
an idea we’ve been stringing them? They’ll 
lock us up!” 

“Don’t worry; we can take ’em and intro- 
duce ’em to the scene of the late struggle,” 
said Bub, a little uneasily. 

“We’ve got the dog to prove it,” put in 
Graham. “Great Caesar! When I think of 
it I wish we had given him a taste of his own 
medicine, when we had him bound there.” 

“Before he found he could get up by him- 
self he tried to make us set him free by telling 
us we couldn’t arrest him because it was his 
own dog, and he could do what he liked with 
it, and he was only exercising it when Graham 
butted in.” 

“Exercising!” Graham ground his teeth. 

212 


GRAHAM TAKES HIS CHANCE 


“Look here, Jack, and here.” Jack turned 
away sick at the sight. The poor dog whim- 
pered feebly, and Graham’s big arm went 
around it again. “Oh, we were fools not 
to have soaked him, Bub!” 

Some of the vanguard of Jack’s “parade” 
arrived here, and they were inclined to re- 
sentment when their long walk promised to 
end so tamely. But as Graham and Bub had 
predicted, the welts on the dog’s back, and the 
scene of the scuffle, where there were foot- 
prints enough to feed their detective instincts 
for some time, soon satisfied them. The boys 
promised to appear against the tramp should 
he ever be caught, and so they were permitted 
to start for home. 

They were very late getting back to town, 
trundling their wheels to accompany Graham, 
who further delayed them by adopting the 
dog and carrying him most of the way, or 
leading him very slowly and gently with a 
bit of rope. 

“What ’ll your mother say?” Bub had asked, 
eyeing this sorry creature dubiously. 

“She won’t mind. Just wait till his coat 
gets better and I get him cleaned up. You 
won’t know him,” was the quick reply. 

“I hope I won’t. He could stand the 
change,” said Bub, feelingly. “He sure is a 

213 


THE GREEN C 


queer-looking object to risk your life for. 
Great Scott, Walt!” he burst out, suddenly, 
staring at the grimy and battered figure 
beside him. “You are a fool! What would 
have happened if we hadn’t come up just 
then? What made you start something with 
him, anyway? Couldn’t you see how much 
bigger he was than you?’’ 

“I was too busy,” answered Graham, in a 
low voice, “thinking how much bigger I was 
than the dog.” 


XIV 


EXPERIMENTS 

D URING algebra hour on Monday, Jack 
suddenly straightened up in his seat, 
and brought his open hand down resonantly 
upon the desk, sending MiskelTs ruler clat- 
tering to the floor in a shower of yellow work- 
ing-papers. Mr. McNaughton, the mathe- 
matics instructor, turned quickly with a long 
stare of controlled anger and astonishment; 
the boys tittered openly. 

“Who is responsible for that noise?” de- 
manded Mr. McNaughton, in cold fury. 

Jack rose, his cheeks scarlet. He had no 
explanation to offer. Miskell, frankly be- 
wildered, was called on to account for what 
had occurred, but was only able to testify 
that up to the moment of that explosive ges- 
ture his seat-mate had been in perfect order, 
and had not exchanged a word with any of 
his neighbors within the past ten minutes. 
It was true. Jack had been dozing inoffen- 
sively through the long hour, as was his 
215 


THE GREEN C 


wont, when he suddenly remembered that 
in his excitement over the tramp Saturday 
he had forgotten to telephone to Professor 
Marshfield, calling off the visit for that 
day. 

He remedied this defect by devoting the 
rest of the algebra period to the construction 
of a letter of apology to the old gentleman, 
jotting down notes on his paper with his eyes 
fixed studiously on the blackboard in an 
attitude that convinced his instructor of his 
somewhat tardy resolution to reform. 

Professor Marshfield, like most eccentric 
and sensitive men, was apt to be considerate 
when least expected. Jack’s letter, a long 
and involved affair, may have had its share 
in softening him. Jack had tried to imitate 
the professor’s florid sentences, and managed 
with fair success at the expense of clear- 
ness. 

“My youthful companion, Walter Gra- 
ham,’’ he had concluded, rather handsomely, 
“retained custody of the maltreated canine, 
at which he was excessively pleased, being 
a vagrant beast without domicile or master 
of its own to maintain it.” 

When Jack read this part to Miskell, the 
latter professed to believe that the writer was 
being rude to Graham; but Jack took com- 
216 , 


EXPERIMENTS 


fort in the thought that his friend was not 
well versed in the professor’s literary style. 

After some study of the answer this in- 
voked, Jack learned that the professor had 
been “ amused and edified by the characteris- 
tic incident so vividly portrayed,” and that 
he was anxious to hear more about it “ver- 
bally, from the lips of the participants.” 
Jack looked up the exact meaning of “par- 
ticipants” in two dictionaries, and concluded 
that this was a special invitation to Graham 
to join them. Graham felt otherwise, and 
said he was not interested enough in science 
to risk being kicked out for it. 

The afternoon was set for the following 
Saturday, and it was something the boys 
never forgot. The little man welcomed them 
with a courtesy that put them on a par with 
the greatest chemists in the land. He took 
them through his wonderful laboratories, and 
answered all their questions simply, making 
his explanations easy to understand. He 
showed them a few experiments, instinctively 
choosing the sort that would appeal to them, 
such as had sufficient magic in them, yet 
could be explained without too deep a knowl- 
edge of technicalities. Photography in all 
its branches fascinated them, from the pin- 
hole camera and some remarkable effects he 
217 


THE GREEN C 


had obtained from this simple, lensless instru- 
ment to the complicated marvels of color- 
photography. 

“Ah, no,” he protested, when they ex- 
claimed in boyish admiration over the fine 
colored plates he showed them as the result 
of his work in this line, “I cannot claim to 
have done anything. I have originated noth- 
ing here. These come merely from following 
in the path Lummiere has laid out. One 
should further the scope of this work, or let 
it alone. I have not the time to give to it. 
I leave it to others to perfect.” 

Both Jack and Bub understood this as a 
suggestion to try their skill in the art, and 
both resolved to take the hint some day. 

The X-rays next held their attention, and 
thence they stepped into fields of electricity, 
from which there was no escape until it was 
so dark and late that riding home along the 
lonely road became somewhat of a thrilling 
adventure, a fit ending to so full a day. 

This visit inspired in the two boys what 
may be regarded as a chemical renaissance. 
Their interest in the subject actually became 
a frenzy. Jack’s pocket-money went now to 
the purchase of strange, malignant little 
bottles, for whose weird contents even he 
himself could find no actual use. He loved 
218 


EXPERIMENTS 


their names, and spent his time cataloguing 
and labeling them, and often exhibited them 
to the awe-stricken Edith with interesting if 
disturbing facts concerning the number of 
people he could annihilate with the most in- 
nocent-looking among them. Of course, both 
boys had inventions to work on, the perfec- 
tion of which would revolutionize the world. 
But as neither of their mothers was altruistic 
enough to dedicate a bath-room to the cause, 
the world seemed doomed to an indefinite 
delay. One lunch-hour, however, Bub came 
into Jack's class-room bursting with good 
tidings. 

“ Listen," he said, excitedly; “I've got a 
laboratory for us.” 

“A laboratory!” 

“All fitted up with everything.” 

“You mean a place we really can use?” 

“Yep.” 

Jack regarded him incredulously. 

“A real laboratory?” 

“The realest, after Professor Marshfield's, 
we've ever been in.” 

“Have I ever been in it?” 

“Yep,” Stanton grinned. “It's where you 
made your first hit in chemistry.” 

“My what?” Jack was completely mys- 
tified. 


219 


THE GREEN C 


“ You went in it to see that your ball was 
comfortable before you left it there for the 
night.” 

“The little lab!” gasped Jack. “You don’t 
mean that!” 

“I sure do.” 

“But — do you mean us to — sneak in?” 

“Sneak nothing,” returned Stanton, vir- 
tuously. “I got permission from Stapleton 
himself.” He showed Jack a yellow slip of 
paper on which was written, “Admit Robert 
Stanton and friend to small laboratory, Fri- 
day, March 26th, till 4.30 p.m.” 

“Great Caesar Augustus! How did you 
get it?” Jack was stupefied at this miracle. 

“I showed him the letter of Marsllfield’s 
that I borrowed from you. That’s what I 
wanted it for, but I didn’t tell you till the 
scheme went through. He just gobbled it 
up. I’m his friend for life now. Of course, 
he wanted to know who Downing was. He 
didn’t remember you. I guess you had Pey- 
ton as teacher, didn’t you?” 

Jack nodded hastily. “What did you say 
then?” he asked. 

“I told him it was a friend of mine who 
was studying chemistry, and he must have 
thought you were pretty grown up to be able 
to understand a letter like that. Anyway, 

220 


EXPERIMENTS 


he only said my friend was lucky to be so 
well acquainted with a man like Marshfield, 
and then he hands me out this permission as 
easy as anything.” 

“Gee!” Jack swelled at his own impor- 
tance in the story. “It does make me feel 
kind of big. Do you suppose he thinks I’m 
really a man?” 

“I didn’t try to let him know you weren’t. 
Of course, I never said you were, but — well, 
it doesn’t seem likely he’d let me loose in 
there among all those chemicals with a 
freshie. They can’t seem to realize that 
boys of your age can know as much as you 
do. We’ll be extra careful, too, and put every- 
thing just as we found it when we’re finished, 
and maybe they’ll let us have it again.” 

Friday afternoon, then, Robert Stanton and 
friend entered the little laboratory with Mr. 
Stapleton’s key. They gazed about them in 
keen delight and sniffed hungrily at the 
chemical-laden air. Jack tried to recall how 
he had felt the day Graham had helped him 
in through the window to look for the ball, 
when even a retort was unknown to him by 
name and the room seemed shrouded in hope- 
less mystery, the bottles, books, and jars 
merely bottles, books, and jars to his ignorant 
and unappreciative eyes. 

15 221 


THE GREEN C 


“Say,” gloated Stanton, removing his coat 
and rolling up his sleeves, “this is great! Do 
you know they almost set this afternoon for 
a meeting of the baseball club? I made 'em 
change it.” 

“It doesn’t look much like baseball yet.” 
Jack nodded to the window. March was prom- 
ising to make good the old prophecy of ending 
as roughly as it had begun mild. The clouds 
hung heavy; the trees beyond the window 
tossed themselves spasmodically in the rough 
blasts of wind that assailed them now and then. 

“Bad day for a fire,” commented Bub. 
“Now, what do you want to try first?” 

“Well, you know about the electrolysis of 
water, don’t you?” Jack seated himself on 
the edge of a zinc-covered table. “Do you 
remember my scheme for using that for 
divers? I did work out a plan, but the 
blessed thing would weigh too much with all 
the batteries and tubes, so I started to dope 
out some way of doing without the electrical 
part. There ought to be some chemical that 
sets free oxygen in the water of its own ac- 
cord. It sounds plausible, doesn’t it? Now, 
if I only could find that chemical my fortune’s 
made. I intend to look for it and experi- 
ment till I find it. I don’t care if it takes 
me the rest of my natural lifetime.” 


222 


EXPERIMENTS 


“There’s only one trouble about it,” said 
Bub, solemnly; “but it completely ruins any 
chance you ever had of discovering it.” 

“What? Danger? I know my risks, but 
I’m not going to be scared off.” Jack 
smiled contemptuously. “All scientists take 
a chance.” 

“No,” answered Bub; “not danger.” 

“You mean no such stuff exists? Well, 
I’m here to prove it does.” 

“Not even that. Much worse than either. 
You see” — Stanton became very confidential 
— “it’s been discovered by some one else 
long ago.” 

“It has , and they never made use of it!” 
Jack looked astonished. 

“Oh, perhaps they have, but not in your 
way. You want to stick some in a little box 
and put it over a diver’s nose, I suppose?” 

“Not exactly.” Jack flushed at this flip- 
pant reference to his invention. “There’s a 
lot to it besides that, and the more I think 
it over the more practical it gets. Look, it’s 
like this.” Jack took a dilapidated note-book 
from his pocket and drew a rough sketch of 
what he intended to call a Tubeless Oxygen- 
ated Diver’s Mask when he should apply for 
the patent. 

■'You ought to see how the stuff works,” 
223 


THE GREEN C 


declared Stanton, who, in spite of himself, 
had been impressed. “I’ll show you the 
experiment, if you like,” he added, eagerly. 
“It might make you change parts of it, or it 
might suggest improvements.” 

“Good! I’d love to see it. Say, Bub, it’s 
hard to believe the worst part is done ! Why, 
any minute now I can complete the rest. 
I wonder where you get the models for these 
things made, or if you have to make them 
yourself.” 

“I think the best inventors don’t trust 
their ideas to any one but themselves.” Bub 
was looking along the shelves for the required 
bottle. “Say, just fill up a pan with water, 
will you?” 

“Sure.” Jack jumped down from his perch 
with alacrity, and did as he was bid, talking 
volubly all the while. “I don’t think I could 
actually make one myself, but I could try. 
Do you have to be of age to get a patent?” 

“I don’t know. It’s a sodium com- 
pound, I think. Did you wash out the pan?” 
Stanton was still busy with labels. 

“No. I’d better, hey? Anything else? 
Flame’s the test for oxygen, isn’t it?” He took 
the precaution to light the Bunsen burner. 
“I could get my father to take out the patent 
for me till I was twenty-one, couldn’t I?” 

224 


EXPERIMENTS 


“Sure. This is it, I think.” Bub reached 
up and took down a bottle. 4 4 Metallic sodium 
— I remember, now.” He brought it over to 
the table. 4 4 There were two experiments/ * he 
said, knitting his brows thoughtfully. 44 I’m 
sorry I left my note-book home/’ 

44 Maybe it’s in one of those.” Jack pointed 
to the books on the shelf above them. 

44 Oh, it’s perfectly harmless either way,” 
declared Stanton. 4 4 Only it might produce 
hydrogen instead of oxygen — that’s all.” 

44 Don’t you think you’d better — ” Jack 
again nodded toward the shelf. 

Bub looked at him sharply. 

4 4 Are you scared already?” he demanded, 
derisively. 4 4 Who was so willing to risk his 
life in the cause of science a moment ago and 
gets cold feet over a little hydrogen now? 
The only thing is I mustn’t put in too much 
of this goo at a time.” 

Jack edged away and watched him empty 
three of the little gray pellets into a graduate. 

44 You see,” began Bub, 44 you invert a test- 
tube filled with water in this pan. The action 
of the metallic sodium sets free the bxygen, 
which then rushes in and fills up the tube. 
I’ll show you. Just fill up one of those test- 
tubes over there.” 

Jack did so. He liked Bub’s air of assur- 
225 


THE GREEN 0 


ance that seemed to quell the chemicals and 
show them who was master, but he felt that 
he himself was still a little unprepared for 
unchaperoned laboratory work. He wished, 
as he held that inverted test-tube in the pan 
of water, that he knew enough about what he 
was doing to feel as safe as Bub seemed to feel. 

Bub looked from the water to the graduate 
of salts, removed a speck from the edge of 
the glass, and tossed the compound lightly in 
the pan. 

All Jack recalled of what followed im- 
mediately was that the water commenced to 
writhe and hiss as though it were filled with 
the most violent-tempered serpents. He felt 
himself jump back just in time to be out 
of reach of a tremendous cloud of yellowish 
flame that extinguished itself with a detonat- 
ing “boom!” A moment later Bub shouted 
something at him indistinctly as a lake of 
fire spread itself over the top of the zinc 
table. With the ever-present thought that 
he must not on any account lose his head in 
this crisis, and the remembrance of Bub’s 
remark that it was a bad day for a fire, Jack 
rushed out into the hall. He made straight 
for the alarm, and, seizing the scarlet hatchet 
from the rack, did what he often had longed 
to do, but with no feelings of delight. 

226 


EXPERIMENTS 


The action of the metallic salts in the pan 
of water did not surprise Jack more than what 
happened now, on the breaking of the glass. 
He always had imagined this was a still alarm, 
connected with the fire-houses. Instead of 
which he stood staring with cold perspiration 
starting from every pore. From the noise, 
he was sure he had set loose all the bells in the 
world, and they must continue to ring for- 
ever. 

The building, empty and dead a second 
before, sprang into life with the hurrying of 
many feet, those who had been detained, 
voluntarily or not, after the closing hour — 
clubs, fraternities, extra-session classes, the 
janitor, the librarian, the cleaning corps. 

Some one grasped Jack’s arm, and hurried 
him to the door. It was Bub Stanton. 

“You chump ! Oh , you boob ! Y ou crazy, 
raving, blithering nut! What in blazes did 
you think you were doing?” he was saying. 
“Come quick, before they catch us!” 

“II” shouted Jack, indignantly. “What 
did I do! Well, I am blessed!” 

But he had no time for further protest or 
argument till they were a good distance from 
the school comer, watching the rush of men 
and boys and fire-engines that swept by in 
that direction, every one shrieking to every 
227 


THE GREEN C 

one else, '‘Cleveland's on fire! Cleveland's 
on fire!" 

“We'd better go back now with them or 
they’ll suspect us," Bub was thinking aloud. 
“Come on!" 

“I like your nerve!" panted Jack, as they 
trotted back. “You set the whole blame 
place on fire, and then yell at me for giving 
the alarm. I suppose you'd have escaped 
and let them all bum up rather than risk 
being caught!" 

“Bum up, nothing!" retorted Bub. “It 
was no fire at all, just a bunch of alcohol that 
you upset when you jumped back. I smoth- 
ered it in no time with my coat — and look, 
it’s hardly scorched. But what in thunder 
possessed you to light that Bunsen burner?" 

“To test the oxygen." 

“That was the biggest fool stunt I ever 
heard of, next to setting off the alarm." 

“Do you mean that there is really nothing 
the matter?" Jack’s relief fought with his 
anger. 

“You've stirred up the town with your 
infernal ringing. Somebody must have sent 
for the fire-engines. It’s lucky you didn't 
do that, too. You can be fined or imprisoned 
for that. Look there." 

A little troop of boys was trotting past in 
228 


EXPERIMENTS 


noticeable good order, carrying ropes and 
hammers. Miskell was in the lead, and those 
who followed Jack recognized as his own 
incipient Boy Scouts out on their first heroic 
quest. He tried to hide behind Bub, but 
Miskell saw him and came running over. 

11 It’s Cleveland,” he gasped. “Gee! we 
thought you were in there. Come on, there 
are bunches of people to help.” 

“There’s no fire,” said Jack. 

“Oh, isn’t there just! Some one said there 
was a big explosion and then flames. It’s 
fierce, they say. I was scared stiff that you — ’’ 

“I tell you there isn’t any,” denied Jack. 

“How do you know?” 

“Stanton put it out.” 

“But — where are you coming from, any- 
way?” 

“I set off the school alarm, and we beat it. 
I didn’t wait to see what happened. Some- 
thing flamed up and — and — I lost my head.” 

“Then something did flame!” cried Salle, 
quickly. “Come ahead! We’ve got to see 
if we’re wanted.” 

They ran on, but their prospective patrol 
leader followed without haste. It took a 
good deal of courage to join in the crowds 
that gathered around the building, and to 
be present when the fire company discovered 
229 


THE GREEN C 


it had been a false alarm and declared them- 
selves ready to start a thorough investigation 
on the spot. 

“We’d better go to Doc Hall and explain, 
this very afternoon,” said Stanton, when the 
excitement had subsided. “They can’t really 
do anything to us, because we have the pass 
from Stapleton. But it’s better to own up 
promptly and get it off our minds.” 

When Dr. Hall had heard the whole story 
and pronounced judgment, some of the charm 
of a chemist’s life had disappeared. As 
Stanton had said, there was nothing they 
could be punished for so long as they were 
armed with Stapleton’s permit, but the Doctor 
had a good deal to say concerning ignorance, 
carelessness, and panic. When he finished, 
Jack felt that, far from being fitted to the 
office of patrol leader, he was not even quali- 
fied to become a tenderfoot, or even to dream 
of the clear-headed business of scouting. Af- 
ter all, everything would have gone smooth- 
ly had he refrained from tampering with the 
alarm. 

From that day a new order was put into 
force forbidding any boy to stay in the 
laboratories except under the eye of an in- 
structor. Jack was a little comforted by the 
reflection that he had at least left a mark 

230 


EXPERIMENTS 


on the constitution of the school, but what 
joy he got from this was banished when Bub 
Stanton took him aside seriously one day 
and advised him to give up all his hopes of 
becoming a chemist. 

“Take any other science you can your last 
year, unless Stapey’s dead,” he warned. 
“He's laying it up for you. It's bad enough 
now with me, but you’ll get yours with in- 
terest. We didn’t know it, but he was in 
the building all along. And say” — Bub tried 
to suppress a giggle — “I found out to-day 
something that’s making him sore enough 
to flunk me and keep me from graduating, 
if he can.” 

“What now?” Jack looked startled. 

“He had to pay ten dollars fine.” 

u For letting us in there?” 

“No!” Stanton did his best not to chuckle, 
and failed. “It — it was he — who — notified 
— the fire department!” 


XV 


THE WAY TO THE C 

W ITH the milder weather came the hint 
of the return of the great national game. 
The ambitions that rise up with the reawa- 
kening of the world every spring thrilled Jack, 
and set him to work with Miskell, so that this 
pair could be seen at all hours in road or field 
“stinging ’em in,” as it is technically called, 
with the historic League ball. The second 
week in April had been set for the try-out, and 
Jack felt he had neglected these matters too 
long in his will-o’-the-wisp hunt after lesser 
glories. He realized that there was much 
striving to be done for his coveted C. Being 
a freshman, which meant that he was nat- 
urally young and comparatively small in 
stature, he was somewhat handicapped in his 
efforts to make the team while there were 
older and larger applicants in the field. 
Strength and brawn he had not, but skill he 
could acquire. He decided that he would 
gain attention by his dazzling good play. 
232 


THE WAY TO THE C 


“I would be a pretty good pitcher if I 
could depend on myself more,” he told Mis- 
kell in confidence one day. “Once in a while 
I get over a peach of a curve; but it’s always 
a surprise to me when I do it. The whole 
trouble with me is that I lack control.” 

To gain the control so necessary he dedi- 
cated many hours both of his own and of 
Miskell’s time. The latter worked with him 
without a murmur of protest, encouraging him 
in his times of depression, criticizing and ad- 
vising always with the apologetic air of a 
disciple correcting his teacher. 

One Tuesday morning, a week before the 
try-out, Dr. Hall announced in chapel that 
the new public baths had been opened to 
the town, with the stipulation that they 
should be given over to the sole use of the 
students of Cleveland High School every 
Tuesday and Friday afternoon from three 
o’clock till six. He followed up this informa- 
tion with a little lecture on the necessity of 
using the opportunities thus offered to learn 
how to swim. There was nothing, he said, 
so essential to every boy’s education as the 
ability to preserve himself from drowning. 
He mentioned several occasions when this 
knowledge had saved him and many of his 
friends; he became so engrossed in the topic 
233 


THE GREEN C 


that he talked long into the first period, and 
he spoke so well that half the boys left chapel 
in mortal terror that they were in imminent 
danger of finding watery graves. 

The consequence was that the pool was so 
crowded that afternoon that no sort of swim- 
ming at all was possible. Jack had been one 
of those turned away, and he sulked most 
lamentably because of it. 

"How do they expect any of us to be able 
to do anything if they fill up the tank with 
a bunch of little babies that yell when they 
feel the water touch them, and fool around 
shivering and pushing and splashing each 
other?” He put the question to Miskell, 
who had not been of the rout. Miskell had 
no answer to this; but Dr. Hall had. He 
put it in the form of another announce- 
ment the next day. He reserved Fridays for 
the boys who knew something about it and 
wished to form teams for swimming races and 
water-polo, or who wanted to go in for fancy 
diving. He was an enthusiast on aquatic 
pastimes, was the good Doctor, and could 
not find words in which to praise them 
enough. 

Jack was in high feather. Here, at least, 
he felt he was able to make a showing against 
good men. He had swum over a mile, could 
2 34 


THE WAY TO THE C 


dive fairly well, and was as much at home in 
deep water as if he were on land. 

“You see,” he explained to Miskell, “some 
fellers are cut out for some things. Now, I’m 
just the right sort of a build for swimming. 
You have to be kind of light, like me, and 
yet strong in your arms, and — er — well — er — 
er— graceful.” 

Miskell, who was as a stone in the water, 
did not hasten to agree with this statement. 

“I don’t know.” He glanced down at his 
own figure. “I’ve seen lots of chaps that are 
mighty strong and graceful, and they can’t 
swim a stroke.” 

“That’s only because they haven’t been 
taught, then. Dr. Hall says all animals know 
how to swim, and a man ought to be able to 
do it better than any of them.” 

“Better than fishes?” 

Jack chose not to pay any attention to this 
frivolous interruption. 

“He says it’s only because men are so lazy 
about learning that they have any trouble at 
all. If you began when they were babies, 
and made ’em swim right from the start, 
they could beat anything — any land animal.” 
He corrected himself swiftly. 

“Ducks?” asked the irrepressible Miskell. 

“It’s because men are scared” — again Jack 
23s 


THE GREEN C 


overlooked the comment — “and they get 
beating around in the water and swallowing 
so much they sink instead of keeping their 
mouths shut and attending to business. You’d 
better hurry up and learn, Misk. There’s no 
telling when you’ll need to know how. Be- 
sides, it’s one of the rules of the Boy Scouts.” 

“Sure I’ll learn,” acquiesced Miskell. “But 
it isn’t only because you’re lazy or scared that 
you don’t find out how to. Supposing you 
never had the chance before. I think Doc 
Hall has his nerve with him if he says it is. 
How about the poor dopes that haven’t any 
water around to practise in? You can’t 
do much swimming in a bath-tub.” 

“That’s not the point, anyway. What I 
wanted to say was that some of us may be built 
for football, like big Graham or Cow Martin, 
and some may be made for running, and some 
for — all sorts of things. But perhaps I’d 
have a better chance of getting my letter at 
swimming than I would at baseball.” 

“Are you going to give up practising?” 
Miskell gasped. 

“No — not entirely. But I’d just as soon 
get on the team in my sophomore year.” 

“Jack Downing!” Miskell looked amazed 
and outraged. “After we went and bought 
that ball, and put in all this time on it — ” 

236 


THE WAY TO THE C 


“ I’ll tell you,” broke in Jack, confidentially. 
“I really want to get ahead of Cartwright. 
Now the possibility is we’ll have a lot more 
chances in the tank than we would at base- 
ball. We’ll be having lots of swimming meets 
before the ball season even gets started. And 
I’m anxious to get my C before he gets his.” 

4 'How do you know that he won’t go in for 
swimming, too?” demanded Miskell. 

“He’s too interested in his baseball,” re- 
plied Jack; “besides, I can see by the way he’s 
built that he probably doesn’t even know how 
to swim.” 

Miskell, during the six months of constant 
association with the versatile Jack, came to 
have unbounded as well as unfounded faith in 
him. Consequently, it was with a feeling of 
there having been a mistake made in nature, 
rather than by Jack, that he saw Cartwright 
enter the class-room two mornings later with a 
little dark-blue, unmistakable roll of Jersey 
strapped to his books. 

“It’s Friday,” he exclaimed. “You won’t 
be allowed in the pool to-day.” 

“Why not?” demanded Cartwright, bel- 
ligerently. 

“Because Friday is reserved only for those 
who know how to swim,” replied Miskell, 
promptly. 

16 


237 


THE GREEN C 


“And who says I can’t?” 

“Why — I — er,” Miskell grew scarlet under 
the other’s insulted glare. “You — you don’t 
look as though you were built for it.” 

“Just who is built for it, for instance?” in- 
quired Cartwright, sweetly. 

“Downing,” answered Miskell, feeling that 
this was the answer Cartwright was expecting, 
and perhaps dreading. 

“Downing is, is he?” Cartwright smiled. 
“I suppose he told you that. Well, just tell 
him for me that I’ll race with him any time 
he wants.” 

When Jack came in Cartwright was at the 
other side of the room, and Miskell lost no 
time in delivering this challenge. His faith 
in Jack was strengthened by the look on that 
individual’s face as he gave his answer, with 
easy contempt. 

“If he doesn’t back out, I’ll take him up 
this afternoon.” 

“Oh, say, I wish I could sneak in and watch 
you,” said Miskell, longingly. 

“Just hang around the door this afternoon. 
There may not be such a crowd to-day, since 
only the swimmers are let in. You might be 
able to get by, later on,” advised Jack, de- 
siring a witness to his coming triumph. 

Nevertheless, that afternoon, when he stood 
238 


THE WAY TO THE C 

on the edge of the tank with four others await- 
ing the signal to “Go!” he did not feel quite 
so confident. The course was the length of 
the pool, touch and return, and he had seen 
this distance covered in some remarkably 
short spaces of time. He and Cartwright had 
been sitting together with their feet dangling 
in the water, watching the try-outs, and each 
keeping up the other’s courage by what he 
imagined was keeping up his own. They in- 
dulged in scathing comments on each other’s 
muscular development, and how unlikely he 
was to make the required time. Each, too, 
was scant of praise when any student gained 
special glory, since neither wanted the other to 
think he could not do equally well himself, 
should he but try hard enough. There had 
been so many volunteers for the racing team 
that they had been forced to try out the boys 
in groups of five, and because of the numbers 
to choose from, the judges were particularly 
strict. In the present quintet, besides Cart- 
wright and Jack, were two seniors, one a tall 
lad of seventeen, with enormous hands and a 
great length of limb, the other small, heavily 
built, and apparently stiff and clumsy. The 
third was a sophomore, about sixteen, with 
bright red hair, his arms and chest still covered 
with last summer’s freckles. Jack and Cart- 
239 


THE GREEN C 


wright agreed that the tall senior had the best 
chance of coming in second. 

As Jack stood waiting, in line with the 
others now, he had a misgiving that the tall 
senior might even come in first. 

He heard a splash which he could scarcely 
realize was partly of his own making, then 
he kicked and paddled himself to the surface 
and started to swim, hoping he might be 
taking the right direction. He saw the tall 
senior several feet ahead, with the red-haired 
sophomore close beside him, and, in advance 
of them all, one he took for the other senior 
until he discovered that he who was struggling 
along on his left was not Cartwright. 

His first thought was relief that Miskell 
was not there to see this. His second steadied 
his nerves and gave strength to his muscles 
in the determination to win out at all hazards. 
He realized that he had dived too deep, and 
therefore had made a very bad get-away. 
He swam with long, leaping strokes that had 
strength behind them and the power to en- 
dure indefinitely. Keeping his eye on Cart- 
wright, still in the lead, he came abreast the 
red-haired sophomore, who showed signs of 
distress by the fact that he had changed his 
jerky overhand stroke for the crawl. 

Cartwright touched the end of the tank 
240 


THE WAY TO THE C 


and started back, and almost simultaneously 
the tall senior reached out in one long stroke 
and did likewise. Jack and the red-haired 
sophomore arrived together, and last of all the 
little senior, who, having made the turn, pro- 
ceeded to get down to business. The tall 
senior overtook Cartwright, who disputed the 
lead with him. Jack crawled up upon them, 
and heard with a little shock of pleasure and 
surprise that Cartwright was breathing heavily 
and looking fagged under the strain. Sud- 
denly a dark figure seemed to shoot past him 
in strange leaps; it was the stocky little 
senior making a sensational spurt. Jack saw 
the taller senior surge ahead of Cartwright, 
and the latter summon up all his strength for 
a final leap. The smaller senior touched home 
half a second before the tall one. Cartwright, 
scarcely able to raise his hand to do it, 
followed instantly, while Jack came in but 
one second later; but that second had lost 
him the team. 

They had to help Cartwright out of the 
tank, and he sat dripping on the edge of it 
regaining his wind. Jack scarcely even pant- 
ed as he drew himself up onto the tiled floor 
and stood trying to master his disappoint- 
ment and face defeat like a Boy Scout or a 
friend of Mr. Carrington. It was one of the 
241 


THE GREEN C 


triumphs of his life when he was able to smile 
at Cartwright after the latter had recovered 
sufficiently to look up at him. Cartwright 
smiled back. 

“Did you make it?” he croaked. 

Jack forced himself to look even happier 
and shook his head. 

“You did,” he said. “Congratulations.” 
He went through the ceremony of shaking 
hands with himself. 

“You were right behind me.” 

“Yes, but a second too late.” It was on 
the tip of Jack’s tongue to mention his deep 
dive and bad start, but he refrained. 

Some one seized him by the shoulders. 

“Say, youngster” — it was the voice of 
the swimming-director, Clark — “we’ve been 
watching you. You’ve got some fine lungs. 
You look as if you could live in the water for 
a week.” 

Jack flushed. 

“Yes, sir,” he murmured, wishing he knew 
the proper answer. 

“We want you for water-polo. You’ll get 
up speed later. Lots of ’em can make forty 
yards or so at a good enough clip, but there 
aren’t so many that can come out of it as 
fresh as you are. You act as if you’d only 
walked it. Think you can play water-polo?” 

242 


THE WAY TO THE C 


“You mean — I — I — I'm to be on the 
team?" Jack felt as if the sky had opened 
and left heaven bare to his view. 

“Sure I do." 

“O-oh, sa-ay!" 

In the midst of his joy he caught Cart- 
wright’s eye. The latter was nodding at him 
delightedly, and it was now his turn to clasp 
his hands together — trembling hands they 
were still — in the good-fellowship sign of 
felicitation. 

Jack felt the whole world was clean and 
friendly, that defeat had no bitterness and 
triumph no tyranny. He went home in a 
glow to meet a blow so heavy that, for a mo- 
ment or two, his manhood staggered under 
it. It was when he was telling of his triumph 
at the supper-table that night that he saw 
a strange look in his mother’s eye. 

“Water-polo," she repeated, in a queer 
voice. “No, John; that I must forbid you 
to play." 

Jack felt sure he was not hearing aright. 

“Mother," he protested, dazed, “I’m on 
the team! They’ve elected me, and I’ve got 
a million times better show to get my C that 
way than by just racing. I can’t back out 
now. I’ve joined." 

“You may swim and race all you wish, but 
243 


THE GREEN C 


I must forbid you to dive or play water-polo/’ 
His mother spoke in a quiet tone of command, 
a tone that admitted of no argument, one that 
she seldom used to any of her children. 

“But, marm — ” Jack heard his voice crack. 
His heart seemed to be breaking. “My let- 
ter— n 

“Your mother has said enough, Jack,” 
said his father, gently. 

He felt the eyes of Edie and Emily fixed 
upon him steadily, and suddenly he remem- 
bered to have heard some time, years ago, 
as a sort of meaningless tradition, how his 
mother's brother had once been seriously 
injured in a game. 

“All right, marm, don't you worry.” He 
swallowed hard and spoke in a cheerful voice 
that brought a stinging moisture to his moth- 
er's eyes. “I’ll cut it out.” He nodded 
brightly to Edie, whose tears were unre- 
strained. “I guess it's got to be baseball for 
mine, after all,” he said. 


XVI 

jack’s luck 

A LL day Saturday Jack maintained his air of 
‘ cheerfulness, with the help of Edie, who 
showed her sympathy by devoting the whole 
morning to him. He discovered he could prac- 
tise ball with her — at least he could pitch and 
knock out flies ; and, though she was unable to 
catch any, she could act as a caddie, or a 
pet dog, chasing and returning them to him. 
Meantime, she watched him with keen, steady 
eyes, ready to detect in him any sign of un- 
happiness, a proceeding which, in spite of him- 
self, aroused in Jack a spirit of martyrdom so 
that he unconsciously assumed a more tragic 
demeanor than his real feelings demanded. 

In the afternoon Edie had to leave him to 
go to a party, and she felt as she dressed that 
she was a heartless butterfly in doing so. 
Jack assured her that he had lessons to make 
up or that he might go for a tramp, since the 
weather was so fine. Needless to say the 
tramp took precedence over the lessons, and it 
245 


THE GREEN C 


was better so. The new air, the long stretches 
of brown meadows, with their hint of coming 
green, the call of robins, the sense of spring, 
all these tremendous things made themselves 
known to him as the important business of 
the world, so that his own little trouble 
vanished under it all, ashamed. He thought 
of Graham, and how he had taken it upon 
himself to urge him to obedience, however hard 
the decree. His respect for the big senior 
increased a thousandfold with the partial 
understanding of what Graham had resigned 
after he had burned his mother’s letter, and 
in doing so, discovered and erased his “ yellow 
streak.” After all, Jack saw he was giving 
up so little in comparison, for, as he had told 
Edie, there was baseball left. Perhaps it was 
fated that he should win his C as he had set 
out to do it. 

Sunday passed serenely, but Monday morn- 
ing, with the chance of seeing Cartwright, and 
telling Miskell all, of having to report to 
Jansen, the captain of the polo team, he was 
assailed with panic. The depression he had 
put from him so bravely and persistently during 
the last two days asserted itself in full force. 
He went to see Jansen as soon as he got to 
school, and it was harder than he had thought. 

“You’re going to resign!” Jansen had ex- 
246 


JACK’S LUCK 


claimed. “What for? Clark says with a 
little training you’d be one of the most 
valuable members of the team.” 

“I can’t help it,” said Jack, hastily. “I’m 
forbidden to play.” 

“ You ! You’re the healthiest-looking speci- 
men I ever saw. Clark wouldn’t let you in 
on anything that was going to hurt you. 
Who’s your doctor, anyway?” 

At this moment Jack looked across the room 
and saw Big Graham standing at the open 
window, with his profile toward the class, 
talking with Cow Martin, who was known 
to have been the coiner of that hateful nick- 
name “Little Fumbler.” 

“It’s not the doctor at all,” he said, his 
voice suddenly steady and natural. “It’s 
my mother; she’s nervous.” 

Jansen looked at him in an astonishment 
that died in confusion. 

“I say — I’m sorry. Does she forbid swim- 
ming entirely, or just the game?” 

“Only water-polo and diving.” 

“Try for speed, then. You have endur- 
ance. You may be able to make the team 
later for long-distance racing.” 

Miskell met him on the threshold of their 
class-room, and, seizing his chum’s hand, 
pumped it excitedly. 

247 


THE GREEN C 


“Oh you Jackie! — put it there, old sock! 
Say, what do you know about our little 
champion Downing! I knew you could do 
it! Have you been measured for your C 
yet?” 

“Who told you?” asked Jack. 

“Cartwright. And he seems tickled to 
death over it. He says he just got on to the 
swimming team by the skin of his teeth ; but 
the guy in charge gave you a regular funeral 
oration on the kind of water-polo player 
you'd make.” 

“Cartwright said that?” 

“He sure did. You made a hit with him 
Friday, somehow. He says you’re a good 
sport.” 

“ Cartwright did?” 

There was a singing in Jack’s ears. That 
the first to bestow on him the title he most 
longed to bear, should be one he had always 
regarded as his natural enemy! 

“He says that you’ve got a better chance 
of winning your C than he, because you’ve 
only got to be in one victorious game, while 
he has to win three races,” went on Miskell, 
eagerly. 

Meantime, they had made their way to 
their desks, and so came up to Cartwright 
himself, who turned upon Jack quickly. 

248 


JACK’S LUCK 


“I’m improving my wind,” he said. “I 
envy your lungs, Downing! I’m going in 
for trotting, every day a little more. They 
say that’s a good stunt. Then I exercise in 
the morning when I get up. How did you 
manage to get yours?” 

“I don’t know. I always could run far 
without feeling it, and swimming was the 
same.” 

“What did your folks say when you told 
them how you were snapped up for the polo 
team?” 

“They said ” — Jack looked from Cartwright 
to Miskell, so that both might be answered 
once for all — “that I had to resign.” 

“No!” gasped Miskell. 

“He’s just stringing us,” said Cartwright, 
shrewdly. 

“No,” answered Jack, with a gravity they 
could not doubt, “I mean it. No water-polo 
for mine. I had an uncle that got badly hurt 
playing it, and they’re scared it may run in the 
family.” 

“Great Caesar!” Cartwright’s eyes were 
full of real dismay. “You have to give up 
a chance like that!” 

“Graham did a great sight more,” an- 
swered Jack, simply. 

In chapel it was announced that the boys 

249 


THE GREEN C 


who thought of trying for the baseball team 
should meet in Room 8 during lunch period, 
and Theodore Cauldwell, the captain of the 
team, would decide with them when and where 
the try-out would take place. 

Cartwright turned to Jack eagerly when 
they got back to their room. 

“You're going to try to make it, aren't 
you?" he demanded. 

“You bet I am," returned Jack. 

“So am I. I'm not so crazy about getting 
a letter just by swimming, and I’m not sure 
I’d be able to, either. But it's something to 
be on the team, I can tell you! Do you 
practise?" 

“Whenever I can." 

“How about this afternoon? I know a 
dandy big lot where I generally go with my 
brother on Saturdays and Sundays." 

Practise with Cartwright ! The world 
seemed a little topsyturvy, but rather a nice 
world at that. 

“All right," agreed Jack. “Miskell prac- 
tises with me as a rule ; maybe he'll come along, 
too. Will you, Misk?" 

“Sure," answered Miskell, readily, “it's 
worth while just to watch you pitch." 

“Are you going out for the team, too?" 
asked Cartwright. 


250 


JACK’S LUCK 


“No; I’m no good at it,” said Miskell, with 
a touch of shyness. “I never think of it.” 

“I never saw any one catch better,” de- 
clared Jack, loyally. “He’s a wonder with 
the mit.” 

“Oh, I catch pretty fair.” 

“Can’t you pitch?” 

“ Distance,” put in Jack, answering for him. 
“He’s got a mighty good wing; but he can’t 
place specially. That is, I’ve never seen him 
try fancy pitching. Can you do it, Misk?” 

“No. Say, I can’t do anything but get 
the balls when you pitch,” grinned Miskell, 
uncomfortably. “I’m not chump enough to 
get a swelled head over that.” 

“How about hitting?” persisted Cartwright. 

“Never saw him do any,” admitted Jack, for 
the first time feeling that he might have been 
a little selfish in his monopoly of the bat. 

“Well, we’ll all have a shy at it this after- 
noon,” was Cartwright’s conclusion, as lesson- 
hours began. 

In the meeting at lunch-time Tin Pan 
Cauldwell informed them the tests would be 
on Wednesday in the big field back of the 
school. He said particular attention would 
be given to pitching, catching, batting, and 
base-running. 

“What else does he want us to do in a game 
251 


THE GREEN C 


of baseball?” whispered Cartwright, still the 
irreverent and critical. 

Cauldwell, as if in answer to this comment, 
went on to say that while quickness and un- 
derstanding were necessary to the players of a 
really scientific game, there was no way of 
judging these merits in a try-out, and they 
would be useless if not backed by more sub- 
stantial accomplishments. Tin Pan, as usual, 
in his debonair way, gave a speech that passed 
for a model of oratory all through the school. 

That afternoon Jack, with friend, and one 
whom until to-day he had been pleased to 
regard as foe, could be seen making his way 
with bat and ball and glove to the field that 
Cartwright and his over-lauded brother had 
been wont to use. They started in by knock- 
ing out flies, and Jack declared that he relied 
mostly on his pitching, since batting was not 
his forte. Cartwright, on the other hand, 
lacked speed, but had a very true eye when it 
came to judging flies. He was a little afraid 
he had not enough strength behind his bat, 
but felt that was because he was still small 
and slight, and he thoroughly believed in the 
muscular training he was putting in for his 
swimming. Miskell was bashful about doing 
anything except catching their random balls 
and throwing them in to the one who was 
252 


JACK’S LUCK 


pitching for the other. Finally, however, they 
persuaded him to take the bat, and he made 
them spend half an hour looking for the ball. 

“ Honest, that was an accident,” he pro- 
tested, to their admiration. '‘I’m no more 
likely to do it again than I am to — to” — he 
was at a loss for a simile impossible enough — 
“to be an honor student.” 

“When we find the ball,” said Jack, “we’ll 
let you try.” 

“This time sting it in,” said Miskell, when 
that important sphere had been recovered. 
“Let Downing try. He sends ’em in faster 
than you.” 

“All right,” answered Cartwright, good- 
naturedly, “I’ll catch. Curve it if you can, 
Down.” 

As a matter of fact, since the notorious curve 
that had landed the ball in the little “lab” 
Jack had never tried to pitch straight. It was 
becoming second nature to him to twist the 
ball in hopes of another outshoot such as 
that. He, therefore, moistened his fingers, 
professionally, and let go. Cartwright caught 
it several inches to the right of where he ex- 
pected it. Miskell had fanned the air. 

“Corking!” cried Miskell, in delight over 
Jack’s triumph. “Say, that looked like Doc 
Hall’s signature.” 

17 


253 


THE GREEN C 


" Can you do that again?” asked Cartwright, 
in an awed voice. "Not many grown-up men 
could do that. My brother is twenty-two, 
and he couldn’t begin to bend one that way.” 

"I’ll try,” said Jack. 

"Oh, you can do it easy!” averred Miskell. 

"Say, you attend to business.” Jack sud- 
denly remembered that they were trying Mis- 
kell’s hitting, and not his pitching. "Get 
on the job! You’ve got to get me on these.” 

"I’d need to ride on a streak of lightning 
with a loop in it to do it,” chuckled Miskell. 

"Aw, cut out the goo.” Jack flushed and 
tingled under the compliment. "Ready, 
Cartwright?” 

"Let her go.” 

Jack put all his knowledge into this throw, 
backed with all his strength and all his will- 
power. He felt the ball leave his fingers with 
a jerk that seemed to sever his arm. He 
heard a crack and a shout ; but he could think 
of nothing save the most excruciating pain in 
his shoulder as he stood rigid, with his eyes 
closed, trying to keep back the desire to scream. 

"He got it, he got it!” Cartwright was 
yelling, jubilantly, "and the good lord Harry 
only knows where he slugged it to! And 
what a curve! But you couldn’t fool him! 
Quick, let’s find it before it’s lost for good!” 
254 


JACK’S LUCK 


Miskell, however, had dropped the bat and 
was at Jack’s side. 

“ What’s the matter?” he was demanding, 
breathlessly, and with scared eyes. 

44 My arm!” gulped Jack. 44 Oh— oh, GeeT 

Miskell called Cartwright, who was already 
trotting out in the direction the ball had 
taken after it had struck the end of the bat. 
He now returned, still chortling over Miskell’s 
hit, but the sight of his friends’ faces put an 
end to all his thoughts of baseball. 

“What happened? What’s the matter?” 
he cried, quickly. 

“His arm,” explained Miskell, in frightened 
tones. “He broke it or something.” 

“Downing,” gasped Cartwright, in a horror 
more professional than humanitarian, “you 
didn’t throw it out?” 

“I don’t know,” muttered Jack, between 
his teeth. “But — oh, say, it — it’s— fierce!” 

“Does the whole arm hurt like blazes?” 
asked Cartwright. 

Miskell thought the question very ill- 
timed. 

“No, he’s doing that because it feels so 
good,” he returned, bitingly. “Can’t you 
think of something we can do? We ought 
to get a doctor, oughtn’t we? Aw, say, can’t 
you suggest anything? What would your 
2 55 


THE GREEN C 


big brother do now?” He felt this was 
masterly sarcasm. 

‘ ‘ This, ’ ’ said Cartwright, promptly. “ * You 
hold on to him on- that side with all your 
strength. Now, Downing — ” 

Jack felt Cartwright grasp his arm roughly 
and pull. He heard himself shriek once be- 
fore he could prevent it. He felt he was 
being torn in two, or that Cartwright, in a 
frenzy of rage at Miskell’s taunt, was en- 
deavoring to rip his arm completely off. He 
grew sick as the sky and field slipped together 
and darkened before his eyes. Then he heard 
a faint click that might have told him, had 
he been better informed, that Cartwright’s 
big brother would have done the only thing 
in the world there was to do. The displaced 
joint had gone back into its socket. 

“ Downing — Jack! He’s going to faint!” 
He heard Miskell’s terror-stricken voice 
dazedly. 

“ Shove his head down!” They grasped 
him by the back of the neck and proceeded 
to do so, nor did he feel he had the strength 
to resist. A moment after, as he stood thus 
doubled up, the blood rushed to his face, and 
everything became clear. 

“Let me up!” he exclaimed. “Look out 
for my arm! What did you do to it, any- 
256 


JACK’S LUCK 


way?” The intense pain was gone; only an 
extreme tenderness remained in the muscles. 

1 1 It had slipped from the socket. Y ou must 
always pull them, and they go back. That 
happened to my brother in a football game 
once, and he went right on playing again. It 
was lucky you mentioned my brother, or I 
would never have thought of it,” added Cart- 
wright to Miskell, genially, " and the longer you 
leave them the harder they are to manage.” 

"Does it hurt yet?” Miskell asked Jack. 

"A little.” Jack tried bravely to suppress 
the truth. "But it’s much better.” He 
turned to Cartwright, gratefully. "Say, did 
your brother really go right on playing foot- 
ball after it?” 

"He did, honest. Of course,” he explained, 
"it wasn’t his whole arm that got pulled out. 
I think it was just a finger.” 

Jack felt a little relieved. 

"I guess it must have been,” he murmured, 
shaking his head. "Oh, look here” — a sud- 
den alarm spread over his face — "is this going 
to put me out of commission for long?” 

"I don’t know,” hesitated Cartwright. "It 
was the first thing I thought of. We’d better 
go to a doctor right away and find out.” 

"Oh, Downing!” There were almost tears 
in Miskell’ s eyes. "That would be the limit! 
257 


THE GREEN C 


Oh no; I don't believe any one could run in 
that sort of luck! Can they, Cartwright? 
Gee, Tm sure it’s all right! I bet what Cart- 
wright did has fixed you up so’s you’ll be all 
right to-morrow. You said if they did it 
right away it was all right, didn’t you? How 
long was your brother’s finger lame?” 

“I’m not sure it was his finger,” said Cart- 
wright, as one who is anxious to be accurate 
at all hazards. “ Let’s see. Yes, I think it 
was; but they didn’t pull it till after the game, 
and he went on playing with it out of joint, 
and that’s why it never really got back. It 
was delayed too long. That’s it.” 

“ Do you suppose this is quite back?” Jack 
looked worried. 

“Yes, I heard it snap. But we’d better 
see a doctor, anyway.” 

“Let’s get the ball first,” said Jack. “Did 
Miskell hit it?” 

“Did he hit it!” repeated Cartwright, 
laughing. “I guess it’s sticking in the sun 
somewhere after the swat he gave it.” 

It might have been, since they hunted for 
it in vain, and finally, fearing lest they were 
keeping Jack from medical aid too long, they 
had to give it up. 

Jack’s doctor commended Cartwright high- 
ly for his prompt treatment, a compliment 
258 


JACK’S LUCK 


Cartwright, with unexpected modesty, passed 
on to Miskell with a murmured, “He reminded 
me of what they did to my big brother 
once . . .” But, according to the doctor, 
Jack had sustained a very severe sprain, and 
his arm would be weak and tender for a long 
time. 

“What do you mean by a long time?” asked 
Jack, tragically. 

“About a month or so. You’ve given your- 
self a bad wrench there, my boy.” 

“A month!” Jack swallowed hard. “You 
mean pitching is out of the question for a 
month?” 

“Pitching?” exclaimed the doctor. “Base- 
ball!” 

He turned away from the look in the six 
wide eyes that were staring at him. Jack 
shook himself, and was the first to speak. 

“No baseball this spring, eh?” 

“It’s only the beginning of April,” said the 
doctor. “Maybe you can do a little playing 
around the middle or end of May. Quietly, 
of course.” 

“Thanks,” said Jack, and smiled the Boy 
Scout smile, a piteous affair. “All right. I’ll 
keep on the sling, and tell mother about the 
applications. Come on, fellers. Good-by, 
doctor.” 


259 


THE GREEN C 


They followed him out as if they were going 
to a funeral. 

“Say, Downing/’ said Cartwright, as they 
parted on the comer. “You’re — you’re hav- 
ing the worst luck in the world. I — I’m — 
well, I wish I could give you my arm — that’s 
all.” They shook hands and Cartwright 
hurried away. Miskell walked all the way 
home with Jack, shrouded in a gloomy silence 
broken only by such comments as “It’s punk!” 
“Oh, it’s rotten!” “Why wasn’t it me?” 

“Misk,” said Jack, when they reached his 
gate, “you did some pretty nifty hitting 
to-day. You’re going to try to make the 
team, aren’t you?” 

“What would I do that for? I don’t know 
anything about baseball, and I care less. 
Now, if I could only trade shoulders with 
you!” 

“Aw! you’re a nut!” Jack left him in 
disgust. 

Wednesday Jack, with his arm in a sling, 
was down with the others watching the try- 
outs. He was somewhat repaid for his ac- 
cident by the interest and sympathy he 
aroused in all the seniors he knew. Jansen 
pronounced himself flabbergasted at Jack’s 
misfortunes, and he looked it. 

Boy after boy stepped to the bat, ran his 
260 


JACK’S LUCK 


bases, caught his fly, pitched his three balls, 
and one after another was chosen or rejected. 
The judges were not easily bluffed. Jack, 
with Cartwright, Miskell, and Cameron, sat 
near them and watched their keen faces. 
Jack noted with a pang that Bub Stanton 
seemed to have a good deal to say. 

Cameron was called on, and not chosen. 
Cartwright came through fairly with his 
catching, but fell down when it came to 
pitching and base-running. His batting was 
true, but not heavy enough. They advised 
him to keep on trying till he was better grown, 
as he had the “makings.” 

Miskell refused flatly to “get up and be a 
monkey for all those guys to sneer at,” and 
the test was nearly over when Jack, in des- 
peration, appealed to Bub Stanton to make 
Miskell take his chance. 

“He’s a fine hitter,” he told the senior, 
“and he can throw distance, and he catches 
better than any one Iknow. He’s just modest.” 

Miskell went to the bat protesting. He 
knocked three very creditable flies; one was 
good enough to rouse the spectators to a little 
roar of surprise. He loped his bases in ex- 
cellent time, and, still protesting, caught flies 
and grounders in the field, and flung them 
home without effort. 

261 


THE GREEN C 


“My hat!” gasped Cauldwell. “He’s a 
gem!” 

“Did they choose that horrid Cartwright 
for baseball, too?” inquired Edith, that night. 
She had not yet become reconciled to the 
enemy. 

“No,” answered Jack. “But, see here, 
Edie, you’ve been practising with me. I 
wonder what kind of a player you'd make.” 

‘ ‘ What are you talking about ? ” Edie looked 
scared. 

“ Miskell,” replied Jack, simply. “He made 
the team.” 


XVII 


THE WIDTH OF THE CREEK 

I T was some time before Jack realized that 
all chance of winning his C this year was 
gone. For a week after the accident he 
even enjoyed the excitement of wearing his 
arm bound up, of being asked sympathetic 
questions, and of trying to make up his mind 
whether he preferred being excused entirely 
from written work in school or making weird 
attempts at left-hand caligraphy. But soon 
people began to forget how unusually unfor- 
tunate he had been, and looked upon him as 
no different from other mortals. Gradually 
he came to realize the vacancy left in his life 
with his greatest ambition taken out of it. 
He tried to revive his interest in the Boy 
Scouts ; but, while he still longed for the camp- 
ing and the life they set forth so charmingly 
in their yellow book, the knowledge that 
Cartwright and Miskell were too busy to 
be interested just now made him postpone 
thinking of it seriously himself. Edie, always 
263 


THE GREEN C 


interested in behalf of science, wanted her 
brother to return to that ; but, though the visit 
to Professor Marshfield had fanned a dying 
flame, the ban on laboratory work quenched 
it utterly. For a time Jack took refuge in 
photography, but gave up in disgust over the 
inefficiency of his old-fashioned little kodak. 

So April passed and May began. There 
had been three swimming meets. In the 
first Cartwright was left hopelessly out of all 
count. In the second he swam against fresh- 
men of other high schools and won one race, 
getting a place in another. In the third he 
won in another freshman contest, and came 
third in a race with mixed classes. His 
letter was imminent. Miskell, too, had made 
an advancement, and from being a mere 
substitute was promoted to left field on the 
regular team, a position he held with his 
characteristic bewildered modesty. 

Only Jack had no honors to show for his 
year's work, and he was heart-sick at the 
thought. 

It was like Edie to suggest that he should 
turn his attention to his lessons. It was like 
her, too, to hint to their parents that they 
should offer a reward for a card of B’s instead 
of C’s this term. She knew Jack wanted a 
good kodak, wherewith to gain Boy Scout 
264 


THE WIDTH OF THE CREEK 


honors, and in sheer desperation, having 
nothing better to strive for, Jack set all his 
fighting powers to work to conquer his school 
tasks. 

It came hard at first, for he had never 
really studied before, but by degrees the habit 
of concentration simplified things for him. 
Jack’s marks began to look better, and he 
had the satisfaction of knowing that they 
represented legitimate work. 

The Saturday afternoon when Miskell got 
his C by fielding in a winning game closed 
with the Saturday evening swimming meet, 
in which Cartwright won his third race. The 
next afternoon Jack and his two distinguished 
comrades set out for a walk in the May 
woods and fields to talk it all over. 

4 ‘But your arm ought to be all right now.” 
Miskell broke off in the middle of a vivid de- 
scription of just how it felt to be going up 
to the bat in a real game. 

“I tried it this morning,” answered Jack, 
doing his best to speak easily and naturally. 
“I couldn’t do anything before it started to 
go back on me.” 

“Can’t the doctor do anything?” asked 
Cartwright. “It’s funny it should take so 
blessed long to get back.” 

“He just tells me to cut out fooling with 
265 


THE GREEN C 


it so much,” said Jack, glumly. “He says 
to forget it.” 

“Some people are just natural idiots,” ob- 
served Miskell, disrespectfully. 

They tramped along in silence for some time, 
and Jack realized their sympathy, though they 
seldom said more than this. 

“I often think,” said Miskell, slowly, “when 
I'm out there in the field, of how you'd 
sting 'em in. Oh, say, Downing, if they 
should ever once see your curves you'd be 
pitcher in less than a week. It’s the only 
thing that consoles me. I’ll probably be a 
fielder till I graduate, unless my luck goes 
back on me and they find out what kind of 
a bluff I am, and kick me off the team before. 
But you’ll step right into the star place when 
you start in, you can bet.” 

“I may have forgotten how to pitch when 
I can use my arm again.” Jack was inclined 
to look on the gloomy side. 

“It wouldn’t take you long to get it back,” 
put in Cartwright, eagerly. “My brother 
says that once you know how you never lose 
it. I asked him, and he says that next year 
you'll be able to pitch much better, because 
your hand will be bigger and your arm longer, 
and you’ll be stronger altogether. And lis- 
ten,” he went on, eagerly; “you remember 
266 


THE WIDTH OF THE CREEK 


Clark, the swimming-director, who wanted 
you for water-polo?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, he asked me about you yesterday. 
He wanted to know if you were increasing 
your speed, and I told him how you had put 
your arm out of business. He was awfully 
sorry, and said again that you ought to go in 
for long-distance and endurance tests. He 
seemed to think you were a regular wonder 
in the water. We’re going to have an outdoor 
meet in June, and if you could get on the 
team in time for that you could win three 
races easy. There’ll be a whole week of it, 
you know. If only your arm would be all 
right.” 

“Say, are you sure about that?” Jack’s 
eyes glowed. 

“As sure as we can be. Other schools have 
such a mean way of backing out at the last 
minute, and they seem to be sort of scary 
about the lake, somehow, when they’ve 
been trained in pools. But Clark is going to 
do his best. He says that outdoor tests are 
the only kind. I’m really not much of a 
swimmer. I’ve got speed, but I’d swap it 
all in a second for half your wind.” 

“I wish I could take you up,” grinned Jack. 

They walked on, comforting Jack and pre- 
267 


THE GREEN C 


tending to regard their letters as accidents in 
comparison with what he really deserved, 
until they cut into the woods off the regular 
road, and so came upon matters even more 
interesting than their school games. For here 
Jack could use much that he had culled from 
the yellow book of scouting. First he showed 
them how to find the north, and hence the other 
points of the compass, by the time of day. 

“You point the hour-hand of your watch 
to the sun and measure back to noon half- 
way/' said Jack. They had to hunt for a 
spot of sunlight, and then were surprised and 
delighted to find their reckoning fairly correct. 
Jack tried to explain it, but soon came to 
grief. “All I know is that if you had a de- 
cent watch that marked the whole twenty- 
four hours you wouldn’t have to figure it out 
in halves,” he wound up, lamely, for the third 
time. 

Then he tried to show them how to meas- 
ure the height of a tree by their own shadows ; 
but after seeking vainly for a tree sufficiently 
isolated to cast a distinct shadow they gave 
it up as a bit of unnecessary learning. 

“Now, that compass business would come 
in handy anywhere. If you have a watch you 
need never get lost except at night,” declared 
Miskell. 


268 


THE WIDTH OF THE CREEK 


"At night you have the pole-star," said 
Jack, promptly. 

"Yes; but did you ever know any one but 
an astronomer who could find the pole-star?" 
inquired the incredulous Miskell. 

So Jack drew a diagram for them which he 
guaranteed to be an unfailing guide for those 
who could not distinguish the most impor- 
tant and useful star in the heavens. 

"But what do you do with the pole-star 
when you do find it?" asked Miskell. 

The suggestions he received were hardly 
feasible. Gradually, when they had exhaust- 
ed their ingenuity along the line of extrava- 
gance, Jack broke the news to him gently 
that it was an infallible pointer to the north. 
Jack felt it was necessary to do this in case 
Miskell should ever need the information and 
perish because they had chaffed him instead 
of putting him right. His Boy Scout ambi- 
tions were returning in great bounds. 

"What else can you show us?" asked Cart- 
wright, when Miskell’s ignorance had been 
attended to. 

"Measure distance," answered Jack, flat- 
tered by the question. "You can measure 
by sound. When you hear a shot you count 
the seconds between the time you see the 
smoke and the time you hear the crack, and 
18 269 


THE GREEN C 


multiply by eleven hundred feet. You see, 
sound travels eleven hundred feet in a second.” 
He was sure of his explanation this time. 

“But do you hear the shot before you see 
the smoke? I thought it was the other way.” 
Miskell was puzzled. 

“So it is.” 

“Well, how can you measure backward? 
When you’ve heard the shot the smoke’s all 
over.” 

“You begin to count when you see the 
smoke, you chump.” 

“But how do you know there’s going to 
be smoke till after the shot?” Miskell, when 
he became logical, was always a little de- 
pressing. 

“Sit on him,” advised Cartwright. 

“ There’s a way of measuring distance across 
a creek,” said Jack, suddenly. “Oh, say, 
that’s a bully stunt. Come on, the creek isn’t 
far, and we can try it. You make an equi- 
lateral triangle out of sticks and point it at 
some object across the bank; then shove it 
on in a straight line till you point at the ob- 
ject again, then multiply by seven-eighths. 
Understand?” 

They did not hesitate to admit they didn’t, 
which made Jack all the more anxious to 
demonstrate it. They lost no time, but has- 
270 


THE WIDTH OF THE CREEK 


tened in the direction of the creek that flowed 
through those woods and emptied into the 
town lake. The stream was not wide, but 
very deep in places, and full of rocks and 
waterfalls that made it impossible to navi- 
gate. They could hear it roaring from some 
distance away, for, though it was quiet enough 
in the summer and in the ice-bound winter, it 
broke loose in spring, indulging in floods and 
torrents that sometimes hurled the boulders 
from the banks and tore up bushes and 
trees. 

“Gee, it’s great to-day!” exclaimed Mis- 
kell. “They say it hasn’t been so full and 
heavy in years.” 

For a while they stood watching it as it 
churned past through the rocks near the 
shore, out into the deep mid-stream. 

“I guess it’s about twenty feet across 
here,” calculated Jack. “There’s a falls below; 
that’s what we hear. Now let’s measure my 
way, and see if it comes out right.” 

4 * Gosh, it’s fascinating. ’ ’ Cartwright perched 
himself, boy-like, on the top of a slippery 
stone. “It makes you feel like getting in and 
swimming.” 

“It’s clean, isn’t it?” Miskell picked up 
£ stone, instinctively, and tried to scale it. 

“Here, you chaps, get to work.” Jack was 
271 


THE GREEN C 


hunting around for the means of constructing 
his apparatus. “I want three sticks; two oth- 
ers as long as this. We can cut them even.” 

“Say, did you see that?” cried Miskell, 
delightedly. “That hopped twice.” He 
stooped for further ammunition. “How 
many can you make, Down?” 

“I’m not pitching this season,” returned 
Jack. 

“I bet it would take nerve to swim against 
that current,” observed Cartwright. 

“You fellers are dippy over your own busi- 
ness,” interposed Jack. “Quit talking shop 
and get to work. I thought you wanted to 
know how wide that creek is?” 

“Just a second — I want to pitch this one,” 
begged Miskell. 

“Let’s see how cold it is?” suggested Cart- 
wright. 

The next minute there was a splash and 
Miskell yelled. Cartwright, not ceasing his 
investigation at temperature, was now test- 
ing the speed of the current and finding out 
just the amount of nerve necessary to com- 
bat it. 

“He fell in!” cried Miskell, jumping about 
on the rock as if it had suddenly become red- 
hot. “Oh, Downing, what ’ll I do? I can’t 
swim!” 

272 


THE WIDTH OF THE CREEK 

“ You do !” Jack rushed up to look. “What 
have you got to do with it? He’s the one 
that has to swim, and he can. All right in 
there, Cartwright? Bring a branch, Misk, 
&nd I’ll watch and get in if he needs me.” 

The suddenness of the plunge, combined 
with the coldness of the water, was doing its; 
best to complete Cartwright’s panic. Instead 
of swimming directly to either bank, he was; 
battling with the current with hysterical, 
futility, and was rapidly becoming weak and 
desperate. 

“Swim for the bank!” called Jack, per- 
ceiving this. “Don’t bother about landing 
up here — the falls are way off!” 

At the mention of the falls Cartwright’s 
struggle began anew. He was breathing in 
sharp, frightened sobs, and was losing dis- 
tance from the rock. Jack grew anxious as 
he watched him. 

“Is this long enough?” called Miskell, from 
the wood. 

“Yes, hurry!” Jack did not take his eyes 
off Cartwright, but divested himself of his 
coat and boots, to be ready if his friend should 
lose any more ground. Suddenly Cartwright 
threw up his arms and went under in utter 
despair, and Jack leaped in. 

In a moment he had clasped Cartwright 
273 


THE GREEN 0 

around the shoulders and felt the other clutch 
at ' him blindly. He remembered, with a 
flash of horror, having often read of that 
dread grasp as they both sank together. 
When they came up, he saw the current had 
taken them several feet down-stream and was 
drawing them on irresistibly. He thought 
of the falls, and realized fully Cartwright’s 
terror of them. In another moment he had 
raised his fist and struck Cartwright between 
the eyes. He felt the dead weight of his 
friend’s body as they went under the second 
time, and he was stricken with panic at what 
he had done. Cartwright could no longer 
hinder him, nor draw him down, after this; 
but neither was he able to help himself in any 
way. When Jack came to the surface he 
was grasping Cartwright’s collar with his 
right hand, and with his left struck out 
valiantly for the shore. The horrible thought 
occurred to Jack that Cartwright might be 
dead. Perhaps he was drowned already, or 
the blow Jack had given him might have been 
more powerful than he had supposed. What 
if, in his effort to save his comrade, he had 
actually slain him? He paddled desperately. 
His weak arm was beginning to feel the strain, 
and a sharp pain shot through his shoulder, 
bringing with it a new dread, the dread that 
274 



HE SEEMED TO APPROACH THE SHORE BY INCHES 



THE WIDTH OF THE CREEK 


the bone might slip from its socket again. 
Jack set his teeth. Whatever happened, he 
determined that the fingers of that hand 
should not release their grasp. 

He tried to think of nothing but the point 
on the shore where he intended to land. He 
forced himself to strike out regularly and 
evenly, to breathe on the out-stroke, not to 
think, and, above all, not to hear the horrible 
sound of the falls growing ever louder and 
nearer. 

He seemed to approach the shore by inches. 
He knew he was far out of reach of Miskell’s 
friendly branch. Now he was in line with 
a border of broken rocks, with the danger 
of being crushed against them in the rushing 
waters. He aimed as best he could for one 
of these stones, and, holding Cartwright in a 
way to protect his head when the jar should 
come, allowed the current to ram him up to 
one of the slime-covered boulders, where he 
clung desperately, bracing against the power- 
ful flow of the stream. He sought in vain for 
some sort of footing, feeling he would be un- 
able to hold out this way for long. He felt 
Cartwright’s drooping body drag at his other 
arm. He shouted with all the breath he had 
left. Not fifteen feet beyond were the falls, 
with the afternoon sunlight making rainbows 
2 75 


THE GREEN C 


in their foam. The freezing water set all his 
bones to ache, now that he had time to think, 
and Cartwright began sinking from his grasp. 

Suddenly he heard a voice, then voices, in- 
distinguishable. He had been told that this 
was a common illusion with drowning men. 
He struggled to keep his hold on the rock. 
Cartwright grew unbearably heavy, the roar- 
ing of the falls was deafening, and all went 
black as he felt his friend’s body drop away. 

He opened his eyes and looked up into the 
pale, yellowish sky, broken and shielded with 
tiny emerald leaves. There was the smell of 
burning wood in his nostrils, and he could 
hear the snap and crackle of a fire above the 
rush of waters. Then he discovered that he 
was tightly bound up in a saffron-colored 
blanket, and he tried to free his arms. 

Miskell’s face appeared between him and 
the sky, a face almost comical under the dis- 
ordered hair, and with its wide, staring eyes, 
were it not for the tears streaming unheeded 
down the lean, freckled cheeks. 

“ Downing — say, Down! Jack, are you all 
right, too?” 

41 Where’s Cartwright?” 

“Safe. He’s here. He’s all right. They’ve 
given him whisky, and he’s just woke up. 
They heard me when I was yelling for help. 

276 


THE WIDTH OF THE CREEK 


Two men. They live ’round here. They 
got you out just — just — just in time. Oh, 
Jack!” 

Miskell’s head went down all at once upon 
the yellow blanket, and Jack wonderingly felt 
him sob and sob. 


XVIII 

THE FORGOTTEN NOTE 


“ AND do you mean to tell me that no 
** matter what heroic act a boy may per- 
form, it does not count against what he would 
do from a purely athletic standpoint ?” de- 
manded Mrs. Cartwright, in Dr. Hall’s office 
Monday noon. 

“Not toward this end, madam.” 

“That my boy is allowed to wear his high- 
school letter, the reward of excellent swimming, 
while the boy who, under tremendous risks, 
saved his life because, as a matter of fact, my 
son’s swimming was not able enough to keep 
his head above water in an emergency — that 
that, boy must have nothing to show for his 
heroism?” 

“I fear you do not understand, madam,” 
began Dr. Hall, a little disturbed. 

“No, I do not,” answered Mrs. Cartwright, 
promptly. “To me it seems like placing com- 
petition in a lot of unimportant games far 
above manhood, courage, and skill. No; I 
278 


THE FORGOTTEN NOTE 


confess I do not understand.” Mrs. Cart- 
wright was rapidly losing her temper. 

“But, my dear madam, a letter does not 
necessarily stand for these splendid qualities 
you have mentioned, and which no one for 
a moment doubts may be attributed to young 
John Downing. There are hundreds of boys 
possessing them that have never worn their 
school or college insignia. A letter is like a 
diploma. Any boy can win one by obeying 
set rules and conforming to set conditions, 
and in no other way. You, yourself, would 
be one of the first to cry out ‘Ridiculous!’ if 
we were to give a diploma to Downing to- 
morrow as a reward. A letter is something 
aimed for definitely, and acquired only under 
special regulations. It is an accepted sign 
to all other high schools that its owner has 
accomplished certain purely athletic feats.” 

“My son got one for swimming.” Mrs. 
Cartwright commenced to muster her argu- 
ments. 

“Yes; so I am pleased to hear.” 

“Yet, while in swimming, he had to be 
rescued by one who swims many times better. 
You admit it takes a fine swimmer to do what 
the Downing boy did?” 

“Yes, but—” 

“There are no ‘buts.’ He’s a better swim- 

279 


THE GREEN C 


iner than Charles. Yet Charles has the C. I 
cannot see it.” 

“All I can say, madam” — Dr. Hall real- 
ized hopelessly that this debate could go on in 
its present circuit until doomsday— “is that 
it is the rule that governs the giving of the 
letter.” 

“Well, it’s a very strange rule.*’ 

*‘A11 boys’ rules are strange, madam; and 
as the boys grow to be men their rules become 
stranger,” said the Doctor, sententiously. 

Mrs. Cartwright rose. 

“Then can’t you do anything?” 

“ The only thing I can do, I fear, will not 
give you any satisfaction. I can recommend 
the athletic council to meet and consider this 
case very specially. They might be brought 
to regard it in the light of an endurance test, 
or as a service to the team, and therefore to 
the school.” 

All this Cartwright told to Jack the next 
morning before the announcement in chapel 
of the meeting of the Cleveland High School 
Athletic Association council, on “an impor- 
tant and very special matter.” Jack upheld 
Dr. Hall’s arguments ever more faintly to 
Cartwright’s putting forth his mother’s side. 
He became troubled and uncertain in his own 
mind. He had once told Edie that he did not 

280 


THE FORGOTTEN NOTE 


care how he got his C, so long as he got it; but 
this was not so. It would not be entirely sat- 
isfactory if his letter meant one thing, and 
Bub Stanton’s, for example, another. Yet 
there was allurement in the thought of being 
able to wear the green C after all, to make 
good his promise at the end of his freshman 
year, no longer secretly to envy Cartwright 
and Miskell for having gained theirs so 
promptly. 

He had left Cartwright and Miskell, and 
turned down his own street that afternoon 
after school, and was walking along deep in 
his disturbing meditations, when the sound 
of a motor horn attracted his attention. He 
jumped aside instinctively, thinking it a signal 
to clear the road, then looked up to meet the 
eyes of some one who would have been only 
vaguely familiar to him if it were not for the 
red motor-car in which he sat. 

“Mr. Carrington!” exclaimed Jack. 

“Get in; I’m going to your house,” said 
Mr. Carrington, throwing open the door. 
Jack climbed in quickly, and the same grim- 
faced chauffeur started the car. 

“Now, how have you been? Did you 
make your letter yet? And how’s that chap 
that was going to try to beat you to it?” Mr. 
Carrington remembered all the details too well. 

281 


THE GREEN C 


“He got it,” said Jack; “so did Miskell. 
Did I tell you about Miskell, my chum?” 

“But what about you?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“How’s that? Hard luck? Or didn’t you 
try?” 

“Threw my arm out. I went in for pitch- 
ing, you see.” 

“Urn, I see. Wasn’t there anything else?” 

“Swimming. We have the use of the pool 
twice a week, now. But I hadn’t the speed.” 
Jack’s heart was beating fast; he wondered 
if he would have the strength to forebear 
telling of his own heroism, and his chance 
to get his letter now. He knew his mother 
would speak of it when they reached the house. 

“Couldn’t you work up to it?” asked Mr. 
Carrington. 

“My arm kept bothering me.” 

“Great Caesar! what did you do to it?” 

“Threw it out.” 

“But that’s nothing. At least, a boy can’t 
throw his arm out so badly as all that. When 
did you do it?” 

“About a month ago.” 

“And it’s still weak?” 

“For pitching.” 

Mr. Carrington shook his head as the big 
car turned in at the Downing gateway. 

282 


THE FORGOTTEN NOTE 


“Well, if it's any consolation to know it, 
it requires considerable strength to put your 
arm out like that. A boy very seldom ac- 
complishes that feat.” 

Jack glowed. It was the first really com- 
forting word on the subject he ever had re- 
ceived. 

He was right in supposing his adventure 
of Sunday would be one of the first things 
his mother would mention, and he was glad 
he had not spoken of it himself. Mr. Car- 
rington looked over at him with an approving 
glance that warmed his heart. Nor did his 
mother stop there. 

“John, perhaps, does not know how much 
another matter has meant to me, too, Mr. 
Carrington,” she said, gently. “I have not 
said anything to him about it; but I want 
him to realize how his giving up water-polo 
at my request gave me more than merely my 
peace of mind. He did it cheerfully and 
promptly, though he had just been elected 
to the team, and had the chance for his letter, 
which, you may not know, is the desire of 
his heart. It gave me a glimpse of his char- 
acter as a boy, that leads me to hope for much 
from my son when he becomes a man.” 

Jack did not know where to look. He 
felt it would be far easier to face punishment 
283 


THE GREEN C 


than this sort of praise. He had not thought 
his mother ever felt like this, because she 
had never spoken in this way before. He knew 
that when he could go away somewhere in a 
comer and think, he might get real pleasure 
out of it all. As it was, he wished he were 
invisible, or else not there, just then. Mr. 
Carrington swung the conversation around 
adroitly. 

“Is it so wonderful to find a boy or a man 
doing what his mother does so often without 
any thought of praise?’ ’ 

“What do you mean?” 

“Giving up the heart’s desire with a smile,” 
answered Mr. Carrington. “I never knew how 
my own mother hated and dreaded football 
till my college days were over. For once let 
us have the honor of self-denial.” 

When he rose to go Mr. Carrington declared 
that he did not want to miss Jack’s father 
again, so he would call at his office to see 
him; and he asked Jack if he wanted to go 
along. 

“Do you like motoring enough to make an 
extra long trip of it?” he asked, as they got 
into the car. 

“Do I!” Jack’s eyes sparkled. 

“I just want to tell you,” said Mr. Carring- 
ton, when they got started, “that the drown- 
284 


THE FORGOTTEN NOTE 


in g story is a good one; but I like the water- 
polo one better.’ ’ 

“What else could I do?” Jack flushed. 

“Nothing. But not every one would have 
faced it so promptly and cheerfully, that’s 
all. It’s hard on you to have to throw out 
your arm right on top of it, so as to lose the 
C completely.” 

“Mr. Carrington,” said Jack, after a pause, 
“there’s something bothering me, and I’d 
like your advice.” 

“Let her go, son.” 

“It’s just that — well, the chap I — I — 
saved — Cartwright — his mother went to Doc 
Hall and raised Cain about her son having 
a letter for swimming and — me none.” 

“Bless these dear women!” said Mr. Car- 
rington, with twinkling eyes. 

“She got so sore about it that they called 
a special council meeting to find out if they 
couldn’t consider what I did as winning en- 
durance tests, and giving me enough points 
to make a letter out of it for me.” 

“Um — that sounds plausible and mighty 
tempting.” 

“Is it all right to take it?” Jack’s clear, 
round, blue eyes searched his friend’s face. 

“Why are you asking?” 

“I don’t know.” 

19 


285 


THE GREEN C 


" Why aren't you just delighted to take the 
letter if they're willing to give it?" 

"I’m hanged if I know." 

Jack shook his head and stared in front of 
him at the chauffeur’s broad back unseeingly. 

"Don’t you think you deserve it?" asked 
Carrington, after a pause. 

"I can swim better than Cartwright, and 
he has one," answered Jack. 

"But — ’’ supplemented Mr. Carrington. 

Jack looked up at him quickly. 

"How did you know there was a 'but’?" 
he demanded, somewhat startled. 

Mr. Carrington smiled at him without 
speaking. Jack again turned away his head. 

"There is a ‘but’," he admitted, "and 
there isn’t an ounce of sense in it. I tried to 
argue it with Cartwright, but I couldn’t. 
Only it doesn’t seem right." 

"Can you understand why?" 

"Well — it’s not the regular C." 

"In other words," interpreted Mr. Car- 
rington, "though there may be a thousand 
better things than winning a few races and 
being on a victorious team, the letter is given 
for that, and cannot be used for anything 
else." 

"Yes," said Jack; "I ought to feel that 
way." 


286 


THE FORGOTTEN NOTE 


“Also,” said Mr. Carrington, “it's rather 
like setting out from a starving camp to hunt 
for food and bringing back some gorgeous 
bird you had bagged — a magnificent speci- 
men, but impossible to eat.” 

Jack laughed and nodded. 

“Something like that. And then it’s like 
being paid for something you don’t do for 
pay.” 

“Here’s a poem for you. Say it after me.” 
Mr. Carrington noted the look on Jack’s face 
at the mention of poetry. “It isn’t very 
mushy,” he added, grinning, and recited the 
little quatrain Jack never forgot: 

Not the laurel, but the race, 

Not the quarry, but the chase, 

Not the hazard, but the play, 

Make me, Lord, enjoy alway. 

“You see,” said Mr. Carrington, “you’ve 
set out to win your C, and just getting it isn’t 
enough.” 

“Say, it’s all right,” announced Cartwright, 
excitedly, to Jack the next morning. “The 
boys stopped in last night after the meeting 
to tell mother. Bub Stanton spoke for them, 
and what he didn’t say about you was a cau- 
tion. He finished up by thanking mother 
in the name of the Association for raising a 
287 


THE GREEN C 


kick about it all. You see, they’ve decided 
that it’s quite regular in this case, after all, 
because by saving me you were benefiting the 
athletic standing of the high school by res- 
cuing one of the members of the swimming 
team. Me!” grinned Cartwright. “I began 
to feel important till I made myself remember 
it was because they want to give you your 
letter.” 

“I didn’t save you because you were a 
member of the team, and I’ll tell ’em so,” 
said Jack, gruffly. 

“You’re not going to stand up and refuse 
it!” Cartwright looked amazed. 

Jack turned away to put his books in his 
desk. 

“Misk will be late if he doesn’t hurry,” he 
remarked, casually. 

“Are you going to have the nerve to tell 
Bub Stanton and the rest you don’t want the 
letter, after all their meetings and trouble?” 
persisted Cartwright. 

“Did I ever speak to you about a man 
named Carrington?” asked Jack, irrelevantly. 

“Listen to me, and answer decently.” 
Cartwright was growing exasperated. “Are 
you or are you not going to have the face to 
refuse your high-school letter when it’s offered 
to you?” 


288 


THE FORGOTTEN NOTE 


“He’s one of the finest ducks I know,” 
commented Jack, dreamily. 

“Who is?” 

“Mr. Carrington.” 

“What in thunder has he to do with all 
this?” roared Cartwright. 

“Oh, quite a lot. He taught me some 
awfully good poetry. Want to hear it?” 

“See here!” Cartwright dove into his desk 
and brought out a book through which he 
hunted vigorously. “I’ve got something to 
show you that may change your mind.” 

“That’s interesting. I’d like to see what 
you think would change my mind in this 
case,” said Jack, watching curiously. 

“I was going to destroy it when I found it 
the other day. Then the talk of the open-air 
meet came up, and I knew you might still 
have the chance to make good, so I thought I’d 
keep it in case you did. Now, I’m glad I did. 
It may wake you up. Here — look.” 

He handed Jack a little scrap of paper that 
had been crumpled and dust-ridden in the 
corner of his desk all year. It had since been 
straightened out and pressed between the 
leaves of a book until it had resumed some 
semblance of its original smoothness. There 
was something scribbled on it which Jack 
read. 


289 


THE GREEN C 


'‘My brother had a C when he graduated. 
I’m going to get one, too.” 

“Turn it over,” said Cartwright. 

On the other side Jack beheld his own hand- 
writing, and a queer pang shot through him. 

“So am I.” 

At this moment a delegation of four from 
the Cleveland High School Athletic Associa- 
tion entered the room and made straight for 
him: Cartwright drew back and watched 
expectantly. 

George Jansen, the head of the aquatic- 
sports division, was the spokesman. He 
had prepared his speech, and delivered it as 
one who is in fear of forgetting what he has 
to say : 

“John Downing, in view of your extra- 
ordinary services to mankind, Cleveland High 
School, and especially to the swimming team, 
the Cleveland High School Athletic Associa- 
tion wishes to confer on you the privilege of 
wearing the high-school letter wherever and 
whenever you choose, and that you shall have 
all the considerations that accrue to any one 
wearing said letter, and furthermore — further- 
more — er — though it is unusual to give — to 
grant the letter except for certain — certain — 
er — things — achievements — stated achieve- 
ments, we find that we can give it to you be- 
290 


THE FORGOTTEN NOTE 


cause you rescued one of the members of the 
high-school swimming team from drowning, 
and in doing so did us — did Cleveland — a 
big favor.” 

There was no one in the school who could 
make a speech like Tin Pan Cauldwell, and 
every one else was painfully aware of the fact. 
That is why Jansen was breathless and per- 
spiring when he broke off at last with the 
knowledge that Tin Pan himself had been 
standing listening to his miserable attempt. 
The last person in the world he was thinking 
of was the person he had addressed, until 
he became conscious that Jack was answer- 
ing, and was saying something that all the 
others seemed to find extraordinary. 

“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Jack 
was begging; “nobody wants it more than I 
do. Nobody would try harder to win it if 
he ever got the chance. But I can’t just up 
and take it. It isn’t the C if you get it that 
way. I want the right to make it as you 
fellers have all made it — square — according 
to the rules of the game.” 

“But don’t you see — ” Jansen blundered. 

“Come on,” said Tin Pan; “the kid’s right. 
He wants the fun of winning it for himself. 
And you needn’t worry about him. He’ll 
do it.” 


291 


THE GREEN C 


“We’re proud of you,” said Bub Stanton. 
“You’ve shown us what it is to be a good 
sport.” 

They trailed out of the room, and Cart- 
wright and Jack were left face to face with 
no word to say. 

There was a tiny wad of crumpled paper 
near Jack’s left foot. 


XIX 


THE LAUREL 

S AY, Down,” said Cartwright, the next 
day, “ Clark wants to see you at the pool 
to-morrow. It’s important.” 

“Clark? How do you know?” 

“He told me.” 

“When did you see him?” 

“Tuesday. Swimming.” 

“Tuesday? What were you doing at the 
tank on Tuesday?” Jack looked surprised. 

“Miskell asked me to go and see if he’d 
improved any,” answered Cartwright, glibly. 
“Has he?” 

“Sure. Heaps.” 

“Cartwright” — Jack sat on the edge of 
his desk and eyed his friend admiringly — 
“you’ve got more nerve than any one else 
I know.” 

“What, now?” 

“ Miskell was growling all day yesterday 
because he had a cold and his mother had 
made him cut the pool the day before.” 
Cartwright flushed. 

293 


THE GREEN C 


“Well, all right, I’ll admit it. I went to see 
Clark about it specially yesterday; but that 
doesn’t change his wanting you to go there to- 
morrow. He made me give him a whole mo- 
tion-picture of the rescue Sunday, and you’re 
as good as on the team whenever you want 
to be. He says, letter or no letter, you’re 
probably one of the best swimmers in the 
school.” 

“Oh, say” — it was Jack’s turn to grow 
scarlet — “you must have laid it on pretty 
thick!” 

“No, I didn’t. He says there are mighty 
few who can make any sort of a show at saving 
people from drowning, and what you did in 
that current was worthy of any man. And 
how’s your arm?” 

“It feels fine. I guess that cold bath did 
it good.” 

“Well, he says to go easy with it and don’t 
put it out again, because we’re sure to have 
that open-air meet, and if we do Clark says 
you’ll be the big man in it. It won’t be hard 
to get your C then. There will be a whole 
week of it, beginning on class-day, and you’ll 
have a cinch winning three races in a week. 
You’ve got to do it.” 

“I have the endurance,” said Jack, doubt- 
fully, “but how about my speed?” 

294 


THE LAUREL 


“ Clark says he can fix that up with a little 
training. He says you lift your arm too far 
out of the water, and that wastes the time. 
You want a quicker stroke, something like 
this — see” Cartwright demonstrated, to the 
annoyance of a passing student, whose books 
were promptly scattered all over the floor. 

Though Jack did his best not to think too 
much about it, fearing that this, too, would 
be bound to end in disappointment, yet he 
could not keep from feeling happy and en- 
couraged. He mentioned it to Edith as 
lightly as possible. 

“Say, Edie, I may get on the swimming 
team, to-morrow,” he said, casually, over the 
top of a book he was studying. 

“How do you mean?” asked Edith. 

“Clark says I have endurance, and they 
need me for long races when they hold the 
meet in the lake in June.” 

“Are you going to join?” 

“Shall I?” 

To his amazement, Edie hesitated. 

“I suppose that means you’ll have a chance 
of gaining your letter again, won’t it?” she 
asked. 

Jack nodded. 

“It lasts a week. If I can’t win my C with 
a week’s steady trying I don’t deserve it.” 
295 


THE GREEN C 


He felt an extraordinary excitement clutch- 
ing him, and rose, stretching his young 
muscles quiveringly. 

Edie’s eyes did not respond to the light in 
his. 

“Jack,” she said, solemnly, “I see so well 
where this is going to land you. Ever since 
you gave up trying to get that silly letter 
you have been working properly at your school 
stuff. If you had wanted the letter so badly 
you would have taken it when they offered 
it to you. I guess you can live another year 
without it. Do you want to lose your 
kodak now?” 

“Aw, bless!” Jack flung himself into his 
chair. “Of course I want the kodak; but 
I wouldn't graft the kind I'd really like to 
get just for a few B's on a report-card. I'll 
tell you a secret, Edie, now that it can’t 
possibly happen ; I was trying for an honor- 
card.” 

“You were?” Edie was girl enough to find 
this much finer and worthier than a hundred 
high-school letters. 

“But don't get excited,” interposed Jack, 
a little sorry he had stirred her up like this. 
“I’ve worked it all out, and it can’t possibly 
be done. I'll be glad to get through without 
conditions.” 


296 


THE LAUREL 


“ That's the old letter again,” burst out 
Edie, impatiently. “I do wish you could for- 
get it. Just think of the kodak. Why, if 
you had an honor-card you could ask for the 
biggest and finest in the world!” 

“I can't do both,” said Jack, decisively. 

“No, indeed,” said Edie. “I’m glad you 
see it that way, at least, Jackie.” 

“And I'm not going to give up the chance 
of getting my letter again.” 

After he had swum the length of the pool 
several times under Clark's direction the 
next day, and had heard Clark’s guarded but 
encouraging comments on the performance, 
this resolution became fixed. After all, he 
said to himself, here was a last chance miracu- 
lously offered to him. What was a kodak in 
comparison with the right to wear the en- 
viable style sweater Miskell and Cartwright 
had not hesitated to adopt, once they had the 
right? 

“Then you think I have a good chance to 
make my C this way?” Jack felt he owed it 
to Edie to make sure before his final decision. 

“Yes, if you work hard and your arm holds 
out. Try to swim a little more every day. 
But begin with very short courses, so that 
you won't overdo it. As soon as you can, 
go in for outdoor work,” Clark had answered. 

297 


THE GREEN C 


When Jack went home and told Edie how 
he intended to practise, she almost wept. 
She pleaded with him in behalf of his lessons 
in vain. 

“My marks will pull me through/’ he kept 
declaring. “Thanks to you and some solid 
work, I have something to stand on. I’m not 
likely to flunk in anything.” 

“But, Jack, if you could make yourself 
safe with just that little bit of study, think 
how easy it would be to get an honor-card! 
But even if you don’t want to try for that,” 
she added, hastily, catching the contemptu- 
ous look he cast her, “don’t give up your B 
now. Why, if I were you I’d be ashamed 
not to get the kodak, when I’d once made up 
my mind I would.” 

“I’ll save up and buy myself one next year. 
My little one will do for now.” 

“It’s not that; it’s the principle of the 
thing, Jackie. You said you were going to 
win it.” 

“I said, long before that, I was going to 
win my letter,” retorted Jack. 

“Oh, Jackie!” 

“Edie, you make me sore. I am not going 
to flunk, I tell you, and I’m not going to give 
up my C now for anything. I’ve just missed 
it too often, and if all my lessons had to go 
298 


THE LAUREL 


to smash from this minute, to smash they’d 
go. I’m going to trot for two hours every 
day to improve my wind, till it’s warm enough 
to swim in the lake. I’ll do my lessons at 
night — if Tm not too tired ,” he finished, fiend- 
ishly. 

“ Oh, Jackie!” Edie was really crying now. 

“Here, what’s all this?” Emily entered 
the room with a large, brown package in her 
arms. “What are you teasing Edie about, 
now?” 

“Nothing,” answered Edie, loyally, wiping 
her eyes and turning away. 

“She’s mad because she doesn’t want me 
to make my C,” said Jack, sullenly. 

“It’s not that, and you know it,” burst out 
Edie. “I just want you to do your lessons 
right and earn your kodak.” 

“Well, Edie,” said Emily, calmly, “I fear 
you are wasting a lot of good tears. You 
didn’t ever suppose he had a chance in the 
world to get that kodak, did you?” 

“I had a mighty good chance,” declared 
Jack, indignantly. 

“He could have been an honor student,” 
added Edie. 

“Stop dreaming and open this. Some one 
is sending you an infernal machine to prevent 
your cornering all the honors in the school. 

299 


THE GREEN C 


It’s from New York.” Emily handed him 
the brown parcel. 

“What is it?” asked Jack, astonished. 

“Oh, don’t open it, Jackie!” Edie edged 
toward the door. 

“When did it come?” inquired Jack. 

“Just a few minutes ago, by express. 
Well, that’s good! You’re afraid to open it!” 
jeered Emily, whose curiosity was getting the 
better of her. 

Jack took out his knife and cut the strings 
hastily, and with rather nervous fingers un- 
did the innumerable wrappings, while Edie 
continued to move farther and farther out 
of what she considered the danger-zone. 

“Great Scott!” breathed Jack, at last. 
“Will you look what it is!” 

“Oh, look out!” screamed Edie, disappear- 
ing entirely at the sight of the oblong black 
box. 

Jack’s excited laugh followed, and reassured 
her, so that she got up enough courage to 
look in at the door. 

“What is it?” she asked, timidly. 

“Oh, Edie,” exclaimed Jack, in high glee, 
“it’s something that’s going to make you 
ripping! Ha, ha, Emily! you said I’d never 
get one in a hundred years, and look — I 
don’t have to study any more! It’s a kodak 
3 °° 


THE LAUREL 


— and what a peach !” He commenced tug- 
ging and pulling at it to open it with no 
thought of anything else. 

“Who sent it?” demanded Emily. “Look, 
there’s some stuff there you haven’t opened. 
See if there isn’t a note or a card somewhere.” 

“It’s from father, of course,” answered 
Jack. “I guess he ordered it in New York, 
and it came too soon. You’ll get it, Em, 
for giving it to me before I won it!” Jack 
giggled again. “Gee, I never would have had 
the nerve to ask for a folding kodak like this! 
It’s a four by five! Oh, say, what pictures I 
can get! What’s this?” He opened a second 
box with a dozen rolls of films in it. “Oh — ■ 
whee!” he whistled, “this will keep me all 
summer! Gosh, but dad was blowing him- 
self! Ladies, we must be waxing wealthy in 
this house!” 

“Father never sent that,” declared Emily, 
positively. 

“Oh, Jack,” interposed Edie, tremulously, 
“are you perfectly sure it’s a kodak?” 

Emily, pounced upon the pile of papers 
and searched skilfully while Jack still busied 
himself with all the depressions in the 
black-leather case, frantically endeavoring to 
open it. 

“Here’s a booklet,” declared Emily, fish- 
20 301 


THE GREEN C 

ing one out. “That will show you how it 
works.’ ’ 

“ Thanks.” Jack hunted up his own model, 
and, when he found it, raised a howl of awe 
and amazement at its cost. Edie, convinced 
at last that the gift was harmless, came into 
the room to help him admire it. Meanwhile 
Emily discovered the note. 

“Look!” she said. “Open this! It’s not 
father’s handwriting. ’ ’ 

Jack reluctantly put down the kodak and 
opened the note. 

“‘Dear John Downing,’” he read. 

“Who’s it from?” demanded Emily. 

“Give me time to read it,” replied Jack, 
indignantly. 

“You could look at the signature without 
reading it all through,” said Emily. “You’re 
a brilliant child.” 

Jack was puzzling at a name. 

“Cartwright,” he said, at last, greatly 
puzzled; “but that’s not Cartwright’s writ- 
ing.” 

Edie, who found it hard to get over her 
doubts, made for the door again at so suspi- 
cious a discovery. 

“It might be his father, stupid,” suggested 
Emily. “What does he say?” 

“‘Dear John Downing,’” repeated Jack. 

302 


THE LAUREL 


“Gee, he writes almost as funny as Professor 
Marshfield. 'Dear John Downing — 

“That’s three times,” reckoned Emily, sar- 
castically. “He seems to be pretty affec- 
tionate.” 

“You’re interrupting all the time. Let’s 
see. 'Dear — ’ ” Jack stopped short. 

“Give it to me.” Emily took it and 
started to read with better-trained eyes. 
“ ' Dear John Downing.’ ” Jack and Edie ex- 
changed glances. '"It would be impossible 
for us to express adequately our conscious- 
ness of the debt we owe you, or to show in 
any way our appreciation of what you have 
done for us. To endeavor to make known 
one’s true gratitude in a matter so unparal- 
leled as the saving of a life — ’” 

“I bet Cartwright’s brother wrote that,” 
broke in Jack, irreverently. 

Emily gave him a look entirely out of keep- 
ing with the praise she then proceeded to 
shower upon him from the pen of another. 

'" — As the saving of a life, is to attempt 
the impossible. No, your own knowledge of 
having done nobly must be your only true 
recompense. 

'"Yet neither Mrs. Cartwright, Charles, nor 
myself feel we can permit time to go by with- 
out letting you know in some way that we 
303 


THE GREEN C 


are sensible of what your courage, skill, and 
promptness meant to us, when you were so 
ready to sacrifice your own life for that of a 
comrade. Therefore, my dear young friend, 
we beg you to accept this very slight offering 
from those who must continually regard the 
preserver of their son as nothing less than a 
hero. 

“ ‘ N. F. Thompson, the optician in town, has 
an order from me to supply you with the 
necessary pans, dishes, and fluids, etc., for the 
developing and printing of your pictures. He 
will let you have them whenever you choose 
to go for them, which, I suppose, will be upon 
the receipt of this package. I hope the 
necessity of sending to New York for the 
desired size kodak does not delay its arrival 
too much. 

“ ‘ With renewed gratitude and appreciation 
from Mrs. Cartwright, Charles, and myself, 
permit me to inscribe myself most proudly 
and cordially, 

“‘Your friend, 

“‘Horace M. Cartwright.’” 

“Oh, Jackie,” breathed the repentant Edie. 
“Here I’ve been scolding you and bothering 
you! I forgot so soon!” 

“A very nice letter,” said Emily. “Mr. 
304 


THE LAUREL 


Cartwright has good literary style. Now 
show this to mother as soon as she comes in, 
and then put it away, and take care of it. 
Some day when you’re a man you’ll find it 
more valuable than the kodak.” 

“ I’ll keep it where I can use it — where I can 
haul it out any time you forget what a hero 
your brother is,” teased Jack, to hide his 
sheepish pleasure in this fulsome encomium. 
“Want to come down with me to Thompson’s, 
Edie, and get the rest of the junk? We can 
take pictures on the way.” 

“Write your thank-you letter first,” ad- 
vised Emily. 

“Not a bit of it. Not till I find out just 
how much I’ve got to thank them for,” re- 
turned Jack, to shock her. 

“Jack!” exclaimed Emily, thunderstruck 
at his shamelessness. “If you suppose such 
talk amusing, you are mistaken. You have 
not an ounce of delicacy, and that beautiful 
letter is utterly wasted on you! You don’t 
begin to realize what it means.” 

“It means I have the kodak,” grinned Jack. 
“Oh you Edie! What will you do now to 
make me study, hey?” 

Edie silently shook her head. She felt she 
had no right to dictate to one so wise and 
virtuous. 

305 


THE GREEN C 


The next afternoon Edie was somewhat 
surprised to find Jack doubled up over a book 
in the library. 

44 Hello,” she greeted; 44 reading up photog- 
raphy?” 

“Nope.” 

“What? A chemistry revival on account 
of the kodak?” 

“Nope.” 

“What, then?” 

Jack held up the book for her to see. 

4 4 Latin ! Y our lessons !’ ’ 

“You’ve guessed it.” 

“Have you flunked in anything?” Edith 
looked scared. 

“Nope.” 

“Aren’t you on the team any more?” 

“You bet I am! But there’s no chance to 
practise in weather like this.” 

“But you’re studying!” 

“Say, you act as if you thought I wasn’t 
able to.” Jack looked annoyed. 

“But — I thought — you said — ” Edie stam- 
mered painfully. “Aren’t you trying for 
your C?” 

“I sure am!” 

“You can get it and study, too?” 

“I’m going to. I’m going to get a B and a 
C,” declared Jack. 


306 


THE LAUREL 


“But you said — you said now that you 
have the kodak — you — you didn’t need — ” 

“Well, I’m hanged!” Jack stared at her. 
“You thought I was that kind? Well, I’ll 
explain carefully, and see if you’ll understand. 
Now that I have the kodak, I’ve a sort of 
feeling that I’ve got to get the B to pay 
for it.” 

“But you didn’t get it for that.” Edie was 
bewildered. 

“That’s so. Funny, isn’t it?” Jack’s queer 
smile was incomprehensible to Edie. “I’ll 
probably die of brain-fever over it, too.” 
He continued to look at her quizzically, and 
began humming something, of which Edie 
caught a few puzzling words like “laurel” 
and “quarry” and “chase.” In the midst 
of it he broke off, catching Edie’s tragic gaze. 

“Cheer up, Edie!” he laughed, genially. 
“I promise not to try for an honor-card, any- 
how!” 


XX 


THE RACE 

D ON'T forget," said Clark, “to keep your 
arm well down. And don’t lose your 
head. Remember that they haven’t a chance 
in the world against you with the wind you’ve 
got. Take it easy, and don’t get excited. 
Don’t lame your arm. It’s lungs in this race, 
remember, and you’ve got ’em.’’ 

“Yes, sir,’’ answered Jack, steadily. 

“And say,’’ whispered Cartwright, who 
was standing near by. “Just think of this.” 
He touched the great green C on his sweater. 
Jack grinned and nodded. 

Think of it! The thought that this last 
race of the season was to prove whether or 
not he was to wear that coveted letter this 
summer was not likely to fade from his mind 
now! His two other victories had come a 
little harder than he had anticipated, since, 
in his excitement in the first race, he had 
strained his arm slightly. Clark had been 
most particular about his swimming, and had 
308 


THE RACE 


only permitted him to enter the three races 
necessary to the gaining of his C. This was 
the last of the whole meet, a course half a 
mile long, from the boat-house to the end of 
the lake and back. Jack was to be pitted 
against two Hedgeley students, a junior and 
a senior, a senior from Newton, and a fresh- 
man from Danbury. 

The open-air meet had been most success- 
ful in drawing students from other high schools 
into competition, and the whole affair had 
created unlooked-for excitement and interest 
throughout the town. The lake to-day was 
lined with people and boats, and gay with 
flags and holiday hats and dresses. As Jack 
made his way from the Cleveland quarters 
to the float, from which the races were to start, 
he had the thrilling experience of hearing his 
name coupled with cheers, showing that peo- 
ple remembered the “little Cleveland freshie” 
who had won out in two former races. 

He stripped off his blank white sweater, 
and at the word lined up with the four others 
on the edge of the float. 

The shot was fired. 

Clark had taught Jack to dive cleanly and 
not too deep. He had a good start, and pro- 
ceeded to swim on easily and steadily. He 
saw the Danbury freshman surge ahead im- 
309 


THE GREEN C 


mediately, with the Newton senior and one 
of the Hedgeley men close behind. The other 
senior was abreast him and gaining a little. 

In another five minutes Jack had dropped 
completely behind the field, and the Dan- 
bury boy was so far in advance that he could 
no longer even see him. Jack’s heart sank. 
It was all very well for Clark to tell him to 
take it easy and not to lose his head. His 
long, quiet stroke could hardly help him 
against the swimmers in the present race. 
He quickened his pace until he found himself 
within a foot or two of the last man, then 
fought against and conquered a panicky de- 
sire to cast all Clark’s advice to the winds 
and use up his energy in striving for speed. 
He was a full fifty yards behind the first to 
swim around the red buoy that marked the 
quarter mile. It was the Danbury freshman 
who, spurred on by the cheering of the de- 
lighted crowds, was rapidly losing his head. 
When Jack crossed him he was already breath- 
ing with extreme difficulty. Ten yards be- 
hind this foolishly ambitious youngster came 
the Hedgeley senior rapidly diminishing the 
distance between them with his quick, short, 
powerful stroke. The Newton senior and the 
Hedgeley junior followed, and apparently in- 
dulged in a private contest of their own as 
3 IQ 


THE RACE 


they advanced, with first one and then the 
other taking the lead. Last of all came Jack 
with his long, dogged stroke that to the on- 
lookers seemed the essence of hopelessness. 
Suddenly, after he had passed the buoy, Jack 
discovered that the oscillating junior and 
senior had commenced to look upon him as 
another entry in their little race. New fire 
kindled within him. He looked ahead and 
saw that the Danbury boy was foundering 
gracelessly, and the Hedgeley senior had over- 
taken him. At least Jack determined not to 
be the last in the race. 

They were now on the stretch at a point 
where Clark had always permitted Jack to 
let out a little extra speed at the expense of 
his wind. He fixed his eye on the Hedgeley 
senior way up in the lead, and got down to 
business. 

In another minute he found that the two 
beside him were exerting themselves in ear- 
nest, too, and for a short while the three came 
down the course in a straight row, so pretty 
to behold that the spectators burst into en- 
thusiastic cheers at the sight. In this manner 
they swept past the poor Danbury boy, who 
had exhausted himself completely; then slow- 
ly the even line bent outward at the edge as 
the Newton senior forged ahead. In an in- 
311 


THE GREEN C 


stant Jack had caught up with him, and now, 
with ever-increasing speed, Jack and the New- 
ton senior had it out between them. They 
bore down, gaining slowly but surely, upon 
the Hedgeley senior in front of them. 

Jack’s pulse leaped. He had thought that 
he had had no chance at all, and here, at least, 
was the opportunity to come in second. He 
set his jaw firmly. 

The Newton boy quickened his pace. He 
made another spurt. Jack was not to be 
shaken off. 

The leader was scarcely five yards in ad- 
vance. Jack saw him glance back, and then 
strike out more rapidly. Jack drew a deep 
breath and made four swift, telling strokes 
that placed him second in the little group 
of three. The float was not fifty yards 
away. 

The shouts of the watching crowds became 
continuous. The Hedgeley senior cast an- 
other startled look astern and — missed a 
stroke! Jack forged ahead. He could not 
tell whether the noise he heard was the cheer- 
ing of the people or the blood roaring in his 
own ears. His eyes swam. Things became 
indistinct. He was in the lead! 

The yelling grew louder. He felt some one 
right behind him — beside him. He heard a 

312 


THE RACE 

deep, gutteral sob as the Newton senior 
leaped ahead. 

The float was scarcely twenty yards away. 
Dimly he heard his own name called and 
taken up by voice after voice all around the 
lake. The Newton senior was still in the 
lead. 

Jack was breathing hoarsely, and with great 
stress. His arms felt heavy and wooden as 
he put all his power and will into that last 
spurt. Inch by inch he gained, not daring 
to look at the float. The senior’s face was 
pale and drawn with the strain, and he was 
swimming in spasmodic jumps. Jack’s stroke 
was still instinctively regular, though he had 
shortened it to half its ordinary length. From 
the shore it looked so ridiculously even and 
business-like in comparison with the senior’s 
wild struggling that those who witnessed it 
were unable to keep from bursting into ner- 
vous laughter and applause. The sound of 
this was the last thing Jack heard when the 
shadow of the float came into view. He put 
all his nerve and all his energy into that final 
leap. 

Clark dragged him out. 

He saw them haul up the senior beside him, 
and his only clear thought throughout the 
din that seemed instantly to close in all 
3*3 


THE GREEN C 


around him was wonder at the limpness and 
pallor of his adversary. 

“ Did — did — I win?” he heard himself pant, 
as a matter of secondary interest. 

Vaguely he saw a thin flutter of green and 
white go the round of the lake. 

“Good boy! Good boy!” chortled Clark, 
incoherently. Something black dropped down 
upon Jack from the skies, and he struggled 
against it in vain, and felt many hands pull- 
ing at him, and a voice shouting irrelevantly 
through all the racket: “Put your arms 
through! Put your arms in! Stick your 
arms up straight or you’ll be smothered!” 

“Oh!” He had forgotten the necessary 
guarding against cold. They were only put- 
ting on his sweater for him. 

As soon as he emerged into the light of 
day he heard the yells and cries renewed, and 
realized that they were mingled with delighted 
laughter and cheers. Bub Stanton had him 
by one arm, and Graham by the other, and 
between them they swung him high upon 
their shoulders and marched him toward the 
dressing-room to the triumphant shouting of 
the Cleveland yell. 

Jack dizzily beheld faces staring up at 
him, flushed and smiling faces he did not 
know, among which were mingled many as 
314 


THE RACE 


familiar as Cartwright's, Miskell’s, or Edie’s — 
he was sure he saw several Edies. All looked 
friendly and proud and happy, and all had 
open mouths forming his name: “Downing! 
Yea, Downing! Oh you freshie, Downing! 
Now, for Kid Downing, let her go!" 

They got him to the dressing-room at last, 
and Bub and Graham set up an extraordinary 
cry for mirrors — two mirrors. 

“We — must — have — two!" they kept howl- 
ing, in chorus. 

Two little eight-inch affairs were produced 
at last, and Bub held one in front of Jack, 
while Graham held one behind. He stood 
trembling and giggling, wondering in what 
new way they were about to express their 
feelings now. 

“Look!" cried Bub to Jack, above the 
clamor of the students who crowded about. 
“Can you see it? Do you see anything?" 

A cry for silence arose and “Hush!" was 
magically passed from mouth to mouth as 
Jack vainly tried to get any sort of image in 
the frantically moving glasses. 

“We put it on you back to front," explained 
Graham. 

“It was to have surprised you when you 
looked down and saw it. Do you see it yet?" 
Bub jumped around excitedly, which did not 
315 


THE GREEN C 


improve Jack’s chance of catching sight of 
anything in the mirror he held. 

“The Cartwrights gave it to you. They 
told us to get it on you as soon as you had the 
right to wear it, and we went and made a 
mess of it,’’ said Graham. “Can’t you see 
anything?” 

Jack’s imagination served him better than 
his eyes. He felt his knee-joints suddenly 
slacken and grow weak. His heart seemed 
to swell almost to bursting, and a horrible 
desire to cry seized him by the throat. 

“Is — is — it?” he choked. 

“Yes!” screamed Cartwright, dancing 
around in his ecstasy. “Let him take it off 
and look at it. Come on, help peel it off!” 

In a moment this was done, and there was 
a general lull as they spread the white sweater 
out, unheeding the dampness of the dirty 
board floor. 

It was the largest and brightest green C 
Jack had ever seen; but that may have been 
due to the sunlight and the magnifying mist 
in his eyes. 

•i s* 


*2 0 5 


THE END 





















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